


Flash of the Blade

by jendavis



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-07
Updated: 2010-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can't figure Ronon out, or his motives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flash of the Blade

**Prologue**

Ronon slid to a stop on the wet grass, leaned over to catch his breath, and listened to the gate shut down. He hadn't been followed.

When he straightened and scanned the landscape, it was only to confirm his first impressions. No movement but the rain. No life to be seen but the grass. There were no people.

There were dull shards of red in the overgrown rubble next to the gate. The DHD had been destroyed long ago. The reason was not important. It meant only that there was no turning back. Even if the instinct to continue the fight still boiled in his veins.

He wiped the blood from his hands, slid the knife back into his belt, and began to walk north.  
\---

The Councilor had been a small man with an unruly red beard. Of that, he was certain. His other features were hazier, but Sheppard had only met the dead man once.

He heard McKay, shackled in the next cell over, promising that Atlantis would send a search party soon. Listened to Teyla counter with Ronon's ability to mount a rescue mission without them. Total faith, absolute and misplaced.

Sheppard kept his frustration silent, because he'd seen what they hadn't. The blood on Ronon's clothing, the knife glinting in his hand as he left them behind without warning or explanation.

Staring through bars at the first hints of the last sunrise he'd ever see, Sheppard wondered bitterly if Ronon thought the betrayal was worth it.

  
 **Chapter 1**

They were being led down towards the square in shackles, past the angry stares of the townspeople, the seriousness of it quieting even McKay's tongue. Teyla kept her head held irritably high as she followed, while Sheppard tried not to trip over his own bare feet as he tried to scan the square for anything that would aid in their escape.

In the early morning silence, the sound of the activating gate was resounding, and the sight of Lorne's team, flanked by another six Marines with rifles at the ready, was stupefying.

It shouldn't have been, but _hell_ , McKay was already ascending the steps of the gallows.  
\---

Lorne was reassessing the situation, preparing Roth and Amundson to follow his lead. He did so quietly. His small gestures and the darting of his eyes would have been invisible to someone who wasn't staring at their best hope for salvation. After too long a moment, they finally made their approach, stepping through the parting crowd.

"Take it easy, folks. We're looking for the Councilor."

"You'll find him in his shrouds, Major Lorne. Awaiting burial," a voice retorted, and a flash of white hair moved through the parting crowd. "What do you want?" It was Sahlen, the doctor. They'd shared dinner with the man less than twelve hours before, but it seemed like much longer.

"Doctor Sahlen. May I speak with you for a moment? It is of vital importance to your people as well as ours. You must not harm these three before I have said my piece. Is there somewhere private we can talk?"

As the Marines surrounded them, guns drawn, Sheppard watched Lorne, Roth, and Amundson follow the doctor to the two Minor Councilors standing at the far edge of the square, tried to read their discussion through the Councilors' angry gestures and Lorne's ramrod posture.

A glance down at Sergeant Tomlinson, but the serious glare that she returned tied another knot in his stomach, so he turned his attention back to the dirty ground.

When Lorne's team did return, the steel-eyed expression he wore didn't feel any more reassuring.

"Colonel Sheppard, you and your team are bound by law to answer to charges of crimes against your own people. Once we are satisfied that justice has been done, you will return to answer for the crimes against the people of New Sanacra. Returning peacefully, without incident, is the only way to guarantee your safety until the trial. Is this understood?"

"Yes." He could see McKay and Teyla nodding behind them, but could see nothing of their expressions, even as the Marines began to usher them towards the gate. They waited at gunpoint while Lieutenant Roth dialed Atlantis.  
\---

Tapping at his radio, Ronon found that it worked, but that no one was listening, and he toyed with the idea of going back to the gate. It would make it easier when they came through to find him.

But moving onward was the only real choice if he hoped to find shelter.

The scattered stones off to his left were slowly forming a pattern, and then a trail to follow. Ronon was finally free to try and fucking think. Something past the litany of things he already knew. __

This isn't Atlantis, the team's not here. They've left no trail, and there's nowhere to hide. So they never made it here.

 _Hell_ , Ronon thought, _I wasn't supposed to be here, either. So there's a problem with the gate, and they didn't go through. They're still back there, or they're not. They made it out, or they didn't._

The only other option was no less confusing. That he had bad information, or was lied to, and should have read the symbols on the dialing device as he passed.

 _Hah_.

There had been no time, on this point he remained certain. The blood had been real, and the guards had been coming. The alarms had been sounded, and he had no option but to run.

 _The guards knew I was with them. They could've been captured._

The thought slipped up to stop him in his tracks for a moment, but the rain was falling harder, now, and he had to move onward. He needed to find shelter.

Following the path, which was beginning to wind slightly around low-slung hills, he saw some trees up ahead, not far from the path. Not many- it was by no means a forest- but they would suffice.

It was more of a relief than he'd expected, but apparently his injuries understood it as well, and made themselves known again. He forced himself not to stop, to prod at and examine the bruise at his side, the scratch on his shoulder. He ignored the hunger beginning to gnaw at his gut.  
\---

There was no dry kindling, so there was no fire, but the dense undergrowth protected him from much of the wind, and by crawling underneath his coat, he was able to protect himself from most of the rain.

He missed his bed. Wondered, for a moment, if he'd see it again. But right now, he was alone, more unprotected than he'd been in years, and didn't have the security for wishes.

He'd been less safe, though, and he knew it. More hungry, and more seriously injured than this, he'd survived. He'd be there when the morning came, just as he'd been for years, and he could fight if he needed to.

But now, tired after hours of walking through the rain, he couldn't fight off the worry that increased with every rattling branch.

T _hey're safe. They're safe, and they'll make it back to Atlantis. They'll come and find me._

He swallowed the thoughts down, the hope tasting disappointingly hollow in his throat. It was a pathetic thing, to sit and wait for rescue, and it hurt worse than his shoulder. He'd never been afforded the option to hope for it before, not since his first weeks as a runner. Hadn't needed to consider if he could afford it since he met Sheppard.

 _Something's definitely wrong,_ he admitted, _but McKay will fix it, John will fight it, or Teyla will understand it, and they'll be okay._

Even if they don't come.   
\---

"You should have _seen_ your face," Lorne laughed, as soon as they were back in the city again. He waited until his team and the Marines were out of earshot, though, before continuing. "Seriously. What the hell happened?"

"I don't know," Sheppard figured it wasn't an entire untruth, but at least the embarrassment was starting to fade. "What did you tell them?"

"That you had sabotaged the city and that if we didn't get the codes from you, a hundred people would die, and we'd be in no position to continue trade relations."

"As it stands, I think we can stand to lose them. Anyhow, where's Ronon?"

Lorne slowed his steps. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"He's not back?"

"Ah," Lorne glanced up towards the gate techs. "Any of you see Ronon come through last night?"

"No, sir." Banks said, checking the logs on her screen again before standing. "They only gate activity in the past day was Sheppard's team dialing out to New Sanacra, then yours coming through about thirty minutes later."

"Thanks," Lorne turned back to Sheppard, concerned. "You think he's still on New Sanacra?"

"I saw him gate out last night, right before we were arrested."

Lorne tried to translate the data into information, and was beginning to develop a working theory. "Ah," he began, but thankfully, held his tongue.

"No kidding," Sheppard sighed, trying not to rub at his wrist when he caught Keller waiting at the edge of the gate room. "Anyway, I'll catch you in a bit. I have to go get lights shined in my eyes and needles shoved in my arm."

"See you at the de-brief."  
\---

"Okay, I apologize for not being up to speed. There's still a lot I have to catch up on, as you can imagine. But as I understand it, the New Sanacrans have been our allies for over a year now?"

"Yes ma'am." Sheppard nodded. "They've mainly been in contact with Lorne's team. It was my team's second time out there. They'd been out for four days, and instead of sending Hilford's team, I decided that we should give McKay a crack at developing a workaround for all the radio interference."

"Radio interference?"

"The bedrock has some strange metals in it. Lorne's team brought back samples a few weeks ago?"

"Right," Carter nodded, presumably writing a reminder to check on the test results before raising her head to address Sheppard again. "And what about Ronon? Had he been in contact with them at any point before joining the expedition?"

"Not that I'm aware of. He didn't seem familiar with any of them yesterday or last night." _But he also didn't seem to like them_ , Sheppard didn't add.

"But, and forgive my bluntness here, it seems that he may have killed their leader."

" _May_ have," he repeated. "There's no actual hard _evidence_. We thought he was coming back here to get help." It sounded plausible enough, but Sheppard hoped that Carter wouldn't look too deeply at him, because he hadn't believed it for a second. Not then, and not now.

"Then why did he run? And where did he go?"

"That's," _the entire fucking problem_. "That's anybody's guess."  
\---

 _Sahlen stood, a little drunkenly, and passed the wine to Teyla as he began to answer her question._

"We had to abandon Sanacra, our original world, six years ago this harvest. There was a sickness there that we couldn't cure. It took the lives of a thousand at least, including my entire family. Those of us that survived, came here, named this world New Sanacra and made it our home."

Teyla poured her wine and smiled back at him, warmly. "It is impressive that you have managed such strong development in so short a time." She handed the jug to Rodney, who looked up from his datapad to glare at it suspiciously and slide it across the table to Ronon.

Sheppard cut in, if only to derail the flirtation for a second. "Have there been any further outbreaks of the disease?"

"No, which I suppose I should be thankful for," Sahlen shrugged.

It didn't make sense. "Why aren't you?" Sheppard asked, watching Ronon smirk as he refilled both their glasses, and then McKay's.

"We left those who were symptomatic behind."

McKay sharpened his gaze, apparently coming back to the conversation from wherever he'd been.  "Couldn't the infection spread whenever people went back through the gate?"

"We have cut off all ties. Taken pains to ensure that no one goes through to Sanacra. In another generation's time, the address will have been forgotten. We can't afford to pass the information on to our children. It is selfish, I know, but there it stands."

"You are doing right by your children. It is the most one can hope for, and is by no means selfish." Teyla's assertion was met with another one of Ronon's dubious looks, and Ronon himself followed his look out the door, and into the night.  
\---

The typing stopped, and Carter nodded, looking at Sheppard, scrutiny in her eyes.

"And that's when you noticed the change with Ronon?"

Sheppard shifted in his seat, glancing over at Lorne, who tried to grin back like they weren't putting Ronon on trial. "I didn't really notice anything. He just went out and walked the perimeter. Kept an eye on things. The usual."

"I see. So he was outside for a while, and that's when the alarm was raised?"

"No, that came later."  
\---

 _After another hour of Sahlen's longing looks and Teyla's incessant grinning, Sahlen finally excused himself for the evening. Threat now deflected, Sheppard decided that McKay and Teyla could find their way to up their rooms on their own. He needed some air, and without operational radios, the usual nervousness whenever he couldn't immediately connect with one of his teammates was back in full force._

Ronon found him, though, as he stepped around the corner of the inn, distracted by the few lights visible from the windows on the hillside across the fields opposite the central mine entrance.

"Hey," Ronon came out of the shadows to fall into step beside him.

"Ronon," Sheppard started, but it took a moment to figure where to go from there. He had honestly expected to have to search half the town before finding him, even though he should have known better. "How's it going?"

Sheppard ignored the irritation that threatened to rise again. Ronon's desire, thwarted or not, to return to his own people shouldn't have shaken the team dynamic so much, and he knew he should have been able to set it to rights weeks ago.

If Ronon felt as awkward as Sheppard did, though, he didn't let on. "It's quiet."

"Yeah, I can see that." Another light, maybe a fire in a hearth, became visible on the hillside.

"There's not even fifty houses here. In the settlement."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Neither said anything for a while, listening to the wind blowing across the fields. "They would've had to leave behind a few hundred."

Sheppard didn't see the point, not at first, but Ronon was easy to read when he looked close enough. These people had left a thousand of their own people to die.

"Yeah," Sheppard didn't want to get into it. Not now, it was too late at night, and neither of them were capable of going back and fixing it. Ronon only shrugged, saying nothing more, but some of the tension seemed eased from his shoulders.

Sometimes, Ronon just needed to know that he'd been heard. Same as anyone.

After wandering a while longer, Sheppard caught himself stifling his third yawn, and Ronon stifling a grin at his expense. "I'm gonna turn in. You should think about doing likewise."

"Later. I'm fine."

"Okay." It wasn't worth the argument. "See you in the morning." John nodded, turned back towards the inn, mildly surprised to find that they'd gone so far. He went inside and found the stairs, the wood creaking beneath his boots as he ascended.

The bed was amazingly uncomfortable, and he couldn't sleep, so Sheppard was surprised that he didn't manage to have his sidearm at the ready when the door was kicked in by armed guards two hours later.   
\---

Debriefing finally completed, Sheppard was pretty sure he'd run out of words, so it was really no surprise to find that he didn't have a clue what to say to Teyla when he found her waiting in the hallway in front of his door.

"How did your meeting with Colonel Carter go?"

"Ah, about as well as could be hoped." He squinted against the headache pressing in on his eyeballs. "She's sending Lorne's team through in the morning to see what they can find and grab the buffer from their DHD so we can get started on the search."

"Will they be safe?"

"I ordered a cloaked jumper to follow them in. McKay's going to be on board, he says the rest of the radio recalibrations can be made from the jumper. If you're interested, you're welcome to go as well."

"Are you not going yourself?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Of course I am."

"I see." There was something more that Teyla wanted to say, that much was clear, but she looked again at Sheppard's face and decided, apparently, that it could wait. She bowed her head and turned away towards the transporters, and Sheppard let himself into his quarters and tried not to think of the thirty ways he'd fucked up today.

Sat on the edge of the bed, and tried not to think about why he wasn't already back out there, looking for Ronon.

  
 **Chapter 2**

When Carter told him to search Ronon's room for any clues, Sheppard wanted to bristle at the command, he really did. But he was a little relieved. Because his invasion was validated, now. It wasn't his idea- wasn't his _fault_ \- if Carter was the one ordering it.

But he made a show of disagreement, all the same. A minor one, true. Nothing more but a vague scowl, but at least it was there. But he entered Ronon's quarters at five in the morning, because if the _doing_ the search was bad enough, having the entire city _knowing_ about it would be worse.

And now, he was standing in the middle of Ronon's room, not knowing where to begin.

He'd been in here, before. Several times. But he hadn't really noticed it. Sure, he'd helped when Ronon had wanted to recover some things from Sateda, he'd even helped him hang the picture that very same evening, drinking beer and breaking three drill bits in the process.

John hadn't said anything at the time, wasn't sure he'd even wanted Ronon to understand it. But it had felt a little like the day John had cleaned out a drawer for Nancy, back a billion light years ago when he was still deciding who he was going to be.

It had felt like Ronon was finally admitting that he was here at all. That he had made it, and planned to stick around long enough to call it home. John felt like it was one more thing checked off the list, one more thing out of the way.  
\---

John went for the closet, first. A few changes of clothing hung on the pegs in the door, but Ronon hadn't bothered with hangers. Not recently, and probably not ever, with one exception.

 _"Here, put this on," John said, ducking in from the hallway and tossing over the light armor._

Ronon's disdain was evident as he examined the vest. "What for?"

"So you don't get killed."

"I'll be fine," Ronon tossed it on the bed, a cocky grin spreading out across his face. "It'll just slow me down." Catching Sheppard's annoyed scowl as he passed by and out into the hallway, his smile slipped a bit, but not all the way. "But thanks, though."

John shook his head at the vest and shoved it back into the closet, wondering how he'd managed to get away with keeping Ronon on his team for so long. But he _got_ it.

Ronon never went anywhere unarmed. Even now, he never went as far as the mess hall without at least three knives on him.

Ronon didn't think he was untouchable. He didn't think he'd win every fight he found.

But Ronon trusted them enough to open up, sometimes, to run out to the piers in the mornings, to crack the occasional joke at McKay's expense at dinner. To sleep, sometimes, out on missions when John took watch.

He just didn't trust their equipment as much as he trusted his own and himself. But it had been _years_ , now, and Sheppard knew they should've made more headway than this.  
\---

In the corner, leaning against the wall, was a sheathed sword that Ronon only brought out on missions when the mood struck him. Against that was a broken set of bantos sticks.

" _They lost money on the match I had with Amundson," Ronon explained the seven dirty looks he was passing as he stepped out of the gym to join John. "Happens all the time, but they keep putting money down."_

"I don't know, man. They're looking kind of pissed." Sheppard stood back to let Amundson, looking battered and bruised, but still stocky and arrogant as ever, pass by.

"I can take them." Ronon twirled the unbroken bantos stick for emphasis.

"Not the point. Don't need them deciding to resent you, is all I'm saying."

"They just need more practice. It's cool." Ronon waved his hand over the transporter control panel, a little of the smugness dropping from his tone. "Seriously. They are getting better."

"Well there's something, at least," John decided to laugh, watching the transporter door close in front of them, wondering what they were serving in the mess for dinner.   
\---

Ronon had come to Atlantis with little more than the clothes on his back, and even with the Satedan additions, the man owned very little. A few extra knives, some trinkets that told John absolutely nothing, and a few books that Ronon had managed to recover from the library on Sateda. Two of them still smelled like smoke, one was water-damaged, but one was in good enough condition that John didn't worry too much about opening it.

John had never seen Ronon read them, and wondered if that meant anything. Wondered if Ronon put as much into the words knowing that he was one of a very few people left who could read them. If it provided him some sort of peace, or just more anger. If either of those did him any good.

It didn't do John any good, though. Paging through the book now only sent up another wave of frustration. Like so much else with Ronon, John just couldn't translate the script.

 _When Ronon comes back, I'll ask him then._

But he didn't know, really, what it was that he wanted to ask.

The alarm on his watch went off, and it was time to go. He put the book back on the top of the small pile and stood up, scowling at the room for not showing him anything he didn't already know, and tapped his radio on to see if anyone was heading down for breakfast yet.  
\---

John waited for the signal to cloak the jumper and take it through the gate, pretending to be focused on pre-flight systems checks that he'd already done, so he wouldn't have to answer the questions Teyla and Rodney had already begun to ask.

Eventually, though, they were dialing out, moving forward, and they were cruising up over the village. Flying over the nearby countryside, they began to wait for news from Lorne's team, while Rodney resumed tweaking the jumper's communications system.

It was Teyla that broke the silence. "If I may ask, why were you so reluctant to join the search?"

"Because it's safer for Lorne's team if no one knows that he lied to get us out of here. And because these people were set to execute us without trial just over thirty hours ago."

"And here _I_ was, thinking you were just sick of him," McKay joked from the back of the jumper, pulling crystals out of their casings to make adjustments, but no one laughed. It hit a little too close to home, and hung around until _finally_ , McKay barked out a pleased grunt, and the radio crackled to life.

"We've got Amundson pulling the gate addresses right now, and Roth's talking with Sahlen and his family to see what they know. We've got word out that we're looking for Ronon, but no one's coming forth with anything. Orders still stand?"

"Yes. I want to see those addresses as soon as _humanly_ possible. Sheppard out."

He could feel Teyla's eyes on him, but when he turned towards her, the gaze softened. She was forgiving him for something, only he didn't know what, and it was unsettling. He hadn't known he'd needed it, and the suspicion that there was something else that he'd screwed up sat heavily in his gut for the rest of the morning.  
\---

"Got a minute?"

"Of course. Please come in." Teyla waved him to sit, her skirts swishing against him as she moved some papers aside to join him on the low sofa. "How is the search going?"

"At the moment, they're still translating the addresses. It's going to take another hour or so. Then we'll cut out the duplicates, map them, search our records and heads to see if any of them sound more probable than the others. We're going to need you helping out at that point."

"Then you shall have it," Teyla nodded, her face brightening. "I must admit that it is a relief to be asked."

 _Here we go_. "What d'you mean?"

"Well," Teyla paused, editing her thoughts before speaking. "At times, the members of the expedition are not very open to the input of Ronon or myself, especially as of late."

"You're a part of my team."

"This is true. But, if I may speak frankly, in the past months, since Colonel Carter has assumed command, tensions have increased. I do not wish to cast aspersions, but…"

John nodded. "But we've got a military head now, and not a diplomat."

"Indeed."

"I know Ronon's had some issues with some of the newer expedition members, but have you?"

"Many of them have learned to trust us, but with some, it takes time. Everyone has been quite kind, but there is a distance, now, where once there was not."

"Is that what this morning was about? In the jumper?"

"I believe I had feared that, with Ronon's recent actions, his desire to return to his Satedan compatriots, you might choose not to search for him. For that I apologize."

"Well, I guess I didn't do much to dissuade you of that."

Teyla shrugged, but she was smiling a little more openly.

John sighed. "You think we're going to find him? That he wants to be found?"

"Do you think he does not?"

 _She needs to know._  "I saw him running through the gate as they were dragging us out of our rooms."

The shift in Teyla's shoulders told him too much, that she had not been prepared for the conclusions she was drawing.

"Why did you not say anything before this?"

"The other night? Because I didn't want McKay to panic. I was still trying to come up with a plan. Today, it's 'cause I don't like knowing it in the _first_ place. Doesn't really put the best spin on things, and I worry what will happen if the information spreads too far."

"You believe." Teyla shook her head, but there was very little disbelief in her eyes. "Do you believe Ronon killed the Councilor?"

"I don't think it was deliberate. I don't think it was murder. But he might have had no choice but to fight. _Something_ went down." He sighed, cracked his knuckles. "But I don't have any idea what it was."  
\---

Morning broke gray, but dry, with a slight breeze cutting around the rocks. It wasn't strong enough to dry his coat, or his clothes, not yet, but it was warm.

There was enough water pooled in the leaves growing at the edge of the tree stand to slake his thirst. He'd sustained himself more gracefully in recent times, but he hadn't been in the city so long that he'd forgotten how to make it work, and almost managed to drink his fill.

He found himself glancing in the direction of the gate as he cleaned and dressed the cut on his shoulder, but saw nothing. There was nothing that would hinder a puddlejumper's progress across the plain, and his radio, at least, seemed to be operational. They could contact him if they needed to.

He decided to follow the path he'd found. Even if it led only to ruins, he could probably find something useful there. Shelter, if nothing else. There was no reason not to move onward.

And if they weren't coming for him, there was no reason to stay.  
\---

The sun was beginning to cut through the haze when Ronon saw movement in the low valley below. He froze, eyes picking out a small mammal, maybe a large rodent, darting toward a low pile of rocks.

His eyes never lost their quarry, and he began to move, slowly, circumnavigating until he was certain he was downwind before approaching. He hoped it wasn't a burrowing animal; he was too tired to follow warrens for hours under the increasingly hot sun, but as he drew near, the rodent darted out from cover and began to run. It was caught on the second blade Ronon threw.

He hadn't even realized he'd thrown the first, but the awareness that instinct reasserted itself was a comfort.

It took a while to find enough kindling to get a fire going, there on the sheltering rocks, but he managed to skin and cook the rodent. It was filling enough for the time being, but he ate without relish, and tried not to miss the mess hall.

He managed, for the most part, not to think of anything too deeply. Walking was a welcome distraction, as was tracking food, finding water, and watching warily as signs of civilization began to sprout up from the landscape.

But it was well past midday, now, and still no one came.  
\---

 _That first night- after he fought- killed- Ara and Rakai, John watched him get drunk. Set the whiskey bottle down after pouring himself a glass. Just to be neighborly, John explained, only it didn't explain anything at all._

Turned out, John could be a quiet drunk when it was dark outside and the windows showed only their own reflections. But John never talked, not really, unless it was casual, in the midst of doing something else. Eating, sparring. Reading a magazine.

Like he didn't want the focus on him, as if not paying attention guaranteed that no one else was, either. Hiding in plain sight. Usually camouflage, but sometimes it was lulling others into a false sense of security. Sometimes it meant nothing at all, just habit ingrained.

Half a bottle down, though, John finally asked the question Ronon had been waiting four hours to hear.

"You really gonna stick around?" The question was casual, but the way Sheppard listened was not.

Ronon nodded his head, because he didn't want to explain. Didn't want to admit, 'it's my last best shot. Same's you.'

He hoped John wouldn't press for more, but instead, found him moving into his line of vision, forcing him to notice him. Saying, "Look, ah. I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"Don't," Ronon began, but he didn't want to start an argument. That wasn't what tonight was supposed to be about. "It's fine." Only it wasn't. They weren't there yet, at least, and both knew it.

They were at an impasse, and it took most of the rest of the bottle, John drinking his fill, now, to get past it.

"You sure Carter, an' everyone are okay with me staying here?" Ronon asked, but he meant 'are you', and was fairly sure John understood.

"Yeah. Carter's just going to need some time to fit herself in here. Same's everyone." John was staring at their reflection in the window again. "She just needs to know that she can trust you."

Ronon would have asked what he was supposed to do to fix it, but wasn't able to find a question that wouldn't make it clear that he wasn't asking about Carter.  
  
He wished he had, though. Because maybe, somehow, it would have put him on the spot, but it might have meant he wasn't sitting on this spot, watching the town at the bottom of the hill, and wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do next.  
\---

Sheppard and Teyla entered the lab to find McKay talking with Lorne's team, minus Parrish, about the New Sanacran gate list. They didn't seem to notice them, so Sheppard interrupted. "So, what do we got?"

"A whole lot of nothing, so far. Sir." Amundson grumbled, but John wasn't startled by Lorne's annoyed look at his teammate, or McKay's snort when it inevitably came.

"What we've _got_ ," he began, hopefully not winding up for another lecture, "is about fifty addresses. Cutting out the doubles brings it down to just under twenty."

"That's not so bad," Sheppard said, even if he knew better than to pin his hopes on those odds. Lorne seemed intent on sharing his optimism, though, and Roth followed suit. Teyla's opinion was completely unreadable.

"Right, well." McKay clapped his hands together once. "I've gone through and highlighted all the ones we've visited, and the ones that I know Ronon knows about. I've probably missed some, since he doesn't really talk to _me_ about _anything_ ," he raised his head from the screen long enough to search out Sheppard and Teyla, "but maybe you two know something I don't."

"There's a first time for everything," Sheppard grinned at the irritation crossing McKay's face, but before he could say anything more, Teyla cut in.

"Doctor McKay, may we see the file?"

"Already sent it to both of you. Let me know if you find anything." McKay rose, picking up his laptop and closing it.

"Where are you going?"

"I've done what I can here, and now have actual work to do." McKay seemed to really notice Teyla for the first time, and continued, reluctantly apologetic. "You know, with attainable _results_ and such. I've done what I can for now, but let me know as soon as you come up with anything."

"What, you think tracking down a runaway runner who evaded the wraith with a tracker in his back doesn't have the greatest odds of success?" Amundson snorted, before looking away sheepishly when faced with glares from both Sheppard and Lorne.

"I think-" Rodney began, but seemed reluctant to continue, and Sheppard was again thankful for Teyla's presence, and its ability to make McKay behave himself.  "Look. I think that we'll search for him, but _obviously_ , if he hasn't come back by now, either he's not able to, or he doesn't want to. You want me to get into the particular conditions of _either_ scenario?"

Sheppard choked back his response, tries not to let even Teyla see it, but she was staring at McKay, and her glare chased him out of the room.

"Right." Sheppard didn't feel up to trying to soothe any ruffled feathers, so he decided the prudent course was to let it slide until they had something less important to do. "The rest of you are dismissed for now. Teyla?"

Nothing was said as Teyla followed Sheppard to his office, not until the door was closed.

"Colonel Sheppard, I must admit that I am finding McKay's response to this entire situation to be-" she gestured sharply with her hands, and John didn't need to hear the rest to understand.

"Me too. Well, anyway. We should look at this stuff. Grab a chair."  
\---

"What about this one?" Teyla asked, pointing at the screen. "Is this not the address for Old Sanacra?"

"Yes, it is," It seemed logical enough, but he couldn't understand the optimistic lilt to Teyla's voice. "Looks like it was in there twice."

"Does that not mean that two portals were opened to a dying world?"

"Yeah. Huh. Hang on."

Sheppard tapped his radio on, trying to not get his hopes up as Teyla sat back in her chair, watching him.

"Lorne, I need your team in my office if you've got a minute."

While waiting for Lorne's team to arrive, Sheppard and Teyla discussed the details with growing animation. By the time the team arrived, they were certain that they had a workable theory.

"He was displeased with the news that they had left their people to die," Teyla explained, once Roth and Amundson had joined Lorne on the other side of Sheppard's desk.

" _And_ he seemed to know about how many houses would have been left empty," Sheppard added. "I thought he was just doing the math, but. It's a strange thing to know."

"Maybe he was just running the numbers. It could have been just a guess, sir."

"I don't know. Strange thing to do the math on, don't you think?"

"Yes sir," Roth jumped in, eager to agree. "However, I'm afraid I have a more logical explanation."

 _Damn_. "Oh. Okay, let's hear it."

"Ah, Sir? We were there about a month ago when one of the women from town- an older woman, who seemed like maybe she had Alzheimer's, I'm not sure. Anyway. She went through the gate. It's just something that happens sometimes."

"Really?"

"Yes sir," Lorne cut in. "Either senility, or just wanting to see their home world before they die, apparently tends to push some of the elderly to return. Sahlen and one of the Minor Councilors explained it to me."

"Clutching at straws," Amundson muttered, shrugging but not trying to evade Lorne's look. "What?"

"Damn it," Sheppard said, unclenching his fist before anyone could think he was losing his cool. Before he punched out Amundson over nothing but words that slipped out that were probably right anyway.

"Was there anything else, sir?"

"No. Dismissed." _No, there's nothing else. Nothing at all._

He was surprised to find Teyla rising as well.

"I have no more ideas to share, John. I apologize, but I would like to return to my quarters to meditate. Perhaps something will occur to me once my mind is refreshed."

Sheppard wished, he really did, that a few hours spent head-clearing and navel-gazing would fix all of this, but he doubted it. He didn't want to tell it to Teyla, though. _At least she's trying_. "Go ahead. Thanks."

Sheppard glared at the computer screen for a few moments, and, instead of shutting it down like he'd been tempted, he opened up a blank document and began to type.

Half an hour later, he was staring at the orders to block Ronon's IDC until a proper threat assessment could be strung together with duct tape and baling wire and guesses.

He clicked "send" and looked away, standing quickly enough that the blood rushed to his head. If something went wrong with the system right then, and the message didn't go through- if Carter didn't get it in time to sign off and forward it to the gate techs- there would be nothing at all he could do about it.  
\---

If this were the only settlement on the planet, it would not even be worthy of wraith attack. Flyover country, Sheppard would have called it.

But there was always a chance, however unlikely, that they survived by using the same tactics the Genii observed. Hiding below the surface. Living in disguise.

He was already in the center of town before he'd seen anyone other than shadows of the gray time-cracked stone buildings, and he'd learned a few things.

First, most of the town was abandoned. Buildings were obviously empty. But here, there seemed to be more signs of life. Clothing left to dry in the air. The smell of cooking food. The details were more obvious now, and it was apparent that the people had moved in, close together, either for safety or convenience.

No one at all had lived in the abandoned ruins of houses out near the fields. He'd been sure of that when approaching.

No one at all seemed to take issue with his presence though, which was a welcome realization until he followed the thought to the conclusion. There was no one there to take issue.

There was movement behind him, coming out of the alley, and his gun was ready before he turned.

He didn't fire though, and his target didn't seem to be aware that he might. The girl just stared at him like he was some exotic animal. She looked to be about ten years old, still a child but growing out of it. She had brown hair, was unhealthily thin, and had eyes that stared like she didn't know how to be curious.

"Greetings," she said, nervously, eyes moving slowly from his gun to his face.

"Hello." Ronon looked around, thought he saw a face pulling back from a second story window, but otherwise made no movement.

"You are not from here," She said, tilting her head in observation, hands going into the pockets of her trousers. She wasn't afraid of him, and it was a relief.

"No." Ronon wasn't sure it was a question or a statement, but he holstered his gun for the moment. "Where am I?"

"Sanacra," she said, stepping forward, but a door creaked somewhere, back in the alley, and she jumped to respond, darting back around the corner without another word.

  
 **Chapter 3**

Ronon followed the girl to the edge of the alley, but no further, turning around to look at the building across the street, listening to the voices bleeding through the windows.

 _So this is Sanacra, then_. When he thought about it, he wasn't surprised, but it wasn't information that he could use. Not yet, anyway.

He was about to move on when he heard a door open, and turned to find the girl staring at him as an adult woman, followed her out into the street.

She wore the same simple trousers, but the decorations on her tunic were far more elaborate. More lively than the woman who wore it, to be sure.

"Hello. My name's Ronon Dex."

"I am Itris, and this is Atura, my daughter. From what world do you come?"

"I came through the ring from New Sanacra."

"New-" Itris shook her head, grimacing for a moment. "I'm sorry. We do not get many visitors from our sisterworld." She was too polite to spit the word, but it was clear she wanted to. "I suppose you already know you will be unable to leave, and from the look on your face, I feel I should apologize for that."

Ronon shrugged. "It's all right."

"Thank you for saying so. Well, I suppose we should find you lodgings. Did you bring anything with you?"

"I can work, but don't have much of anything to trade."

"Do not worry about that. Lodgings are currently at no premium, you know. There are plenty of rooms available. If you will give me a minute, I will bring you to the Councilor, and he will be able to assist in making your space here."

"Thanks."

Itris ducked back inside, returning with two jackets, one of which she handed over to Atura, who seemed to be growing more confident as time passed. She dodged around Itris to walk on the other side of Ronon, asking, "What is New Sanacra like?"

"Small. Like this. They mine, they farm. They're like people on any other planet."

"I would like to visit there, someday. Some of our family went there. A long time ago. But I can't remember them very well."

Itris smiled tightly. "Atura, please, don't bother our guest. There will be time for questions later, but we should allow him to rest, and eat first."

"It's all right," Ronon said, but smiled back at Itris, more grateful for the reprieved than he wanted to let on.

They walked in silence for a few blocks, and as they progressed, Ronon began to see more people, in doorways, in the streets, and then he could hear the noise of a market, off a few blocks to the east.

"How many people live here?"

"Four hundred and seventeen," Itris recited. We are small, but growing."

"That's good," Ronon said, uncomfortably wishing that he knew how to talk to people like Teyla did. But he didn't say _I would have thought you all were dead by now_. It didn't seem the neighborly thing to do.

Another block, and they were standing in front of a building that looked more serious than the others, obviously some governmental seat. Itris led them inside, where the light was dim but warm, illuminating the tapestries and several well-used desks.

"Please wait here for a moment," Itris instructed, patting her hair down. "I will return shortly."

"So you're not from New Sanacra. Where are you from?" Atura began, as soon as her mother had disappeared beyond a heavy wooden door.

"At. I used to live in a world called Sateda. Left a long time ago. Been traveling ever since." It wasn't an entire untruth, but he wasn't about to bring Atlantis into the equation. Not before he knew who the Sanacrans were.

"You travel to different worlds?" Atura sounded impressed.

"Yeah."

"Do you like it?"

"Sometimes," _when I know where the hell I'm going. And when I know I can leave_ , he didn't add, glancing at the door in hopes that Itris would return soon.

"I want to travel. Mother says that maybe when I am older, I can ask to join one of the traders."

"Traders?"

"Yes. Every few months, a ship comes. We give them food and cloth and things, they give us different food and cloth. And metal and things. But it's different. Not like the things we have here."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." Atura nodded, grinning. " _Yeah_ ," she intoned, apparently liking the sound of it.

Ronon had to admit, he liked the sound of things a little more now, too.  
\---

The Councilor, a man named Aval, it soon turned out, was Councilor Sidum's brother. He shared the same surname and smallish eyes and red beard. He did not seem to share any brotherly feelings, however.

 _"He still lives, then?"_

"Far as I know," Ronon bit his lip against the lie, draining his mug

 _"A man who turns his back on his people is not a man of the people, and now he has the gall to think he can lead them? Preposterous," he said, shaking his head and waving to the innkeeper to bring more ale._

More importantly, Councilor Aval set him up with lodgings in the severely under-used inn, and got him work in the fields. It was dull, but easy enough, and the people were kind, if a little talkative and invasive. Same as any other over-isolated world, probably.

It wasn't home, though, and hopefully, after another hundred and forty days or so, never would be.  
\---

 _After he was given his own bed in his own room, it still took three weeks for Ronon's mind to calm down enough to sleep through the night, and when he eventually did, he slept hard._

An insistent chime dragged him up out of slumber, and he thought he might have croaked out a noise that sounded like "what" or "yeah" or "come in," and when Sheppard hurried through the door, worry clear on his face, Ronon was shocked to find himself wanting to apologize.

"What's up?" He dragged himself up against the headboard, felt the sheets pooling in his lap, and began to reach for his gun, in case Sheppard needed him somewhere.

"Came by to see if you wanted to go down to the gym, but you weren't answering. Just worried you were sick," Sheppard said, his hand falling away from his sidearm, shoulders deflating in relief. "Shit. Sorry."

Ronon's fingers brushed away from the gun wedged behind the mattress, nodding. "What time is it?"

"Almost time for lunch."

"I was out that long?" Ronon was sure Sheppard could see the flush of embarrassment crawling down over his bare chest. He was nearly naked, bare under the scrutiny. It should have been mortifying, but he found himself sparing a fleeting thought to wonder what would happen if Sheppard took five more steps and came close to his bed. If either of them would reach out.

He blinked, shook the thoughts away along with the rest of the sleep. He wasn't ready for them. Not yet.

"Guess you needed the sleep," Sheppard looked towards the window fighting the grin that wanted to spread from his eyes to his mouth, and moved like he was going to step back, hand reaching up in apology. "Go ahead crash out again if you want. Sorry I woke you."

"It's fine." The moment threatened to freeze there, though, if nothing more was said. "Want to get lunch?"

"I'm starving," Sheppard hurriedly agreed. "I'll be in the mess when you get there."

"Nah," Ronon decided. "Wait up." He stood, dragging on the nearest clothing at hand, stepping into his boots, and buckling the holster around his hips. Trying not to glance up to see if Sheppard was watching him. Trying to guess what it would mean if he was.

"How the hell do you do that?" Sheppard laughed, shaking his head as Ronon finished. "It didn't even take you thirty seconds!"

Ronon shrugged, leading the way out into the hallway. "Learned how to dress myself when I was very young. Why? When do your people learn?"   
\---

"How did it go, sir?"

"Fine. Zelenka's 302 tracking units are working as advertised, and Caldwell seems satisfied. Should have the rest of the squadron upgraded within the month. Any of the teams report back yet?"

"Nothing from our contacts, but we're still waiting on Harrison's team." Lorne said, glancing back to his screen to reconfirm. "They should be back within the hour."

"All right," Sheppard didn't bother hiding his disappointment. He hadn't noticed that he'd gotten his hopes up again. Happened, sometimes, when he was flying. He'd his guard down for everything but the sky. "I've got to go check in with Carter."  
\---

He dragged his feet towards Carter's office, already knowing what the discussion would be. She'd ask about any new information. His recommendations.

He would have nothing new, not from their contacts, and nothing from the ground search.

Because she was kind, she would ask him if he thought there was any gain to be found in sending out additional search teams.

He'd have to say that there were none. That they'd have to catch-as-catch can until they happened across better information. She'd give him the orders to sign off on, and he'd scrawl his name, promising himself that he'd break them as soon as he found a reason.  
\---

He let himself back into his office, making sure the door shut behind him. Sat down at his desk and picked up the file folder that hadn't even been buried under a day's worth of other business, and began to reread every single word of every single field report.

After making initial contact through Teyla some two years ago, Lorne's team had been out to Sanacra six times. Three missions had been in the past three months, two in the past month.

 _"…seriously, Ronon. If I tell you to do something in the field, I need to know that you can do it. Because I'm sure you can handle it, I just don't know that you will, and I've got a lot of other guys who could fill the position that I can trust to follow orders."_

"Right."

"Cool." Sheppard looked up from his computer, smirking almost sympathetically. "We're done, now, so relax. I can't really make you scrub the latrines and running the perimeter ten times wouldn't be a punishment."

"Okay..."

The Sanacrans were primarily miners, though less so than they were on their original home world, which they abandoned six years ago. There were a few hundred people living on New Sanacra.

 _…Teyla, sitting in the puddlejumper as John flew her to the mainland, was the one to point out that Ronon had been with them for a full year, but it was John who spent the rest of the return trip trying to figure out what it was supposed to mean, because he was pretty sure it was a little more than just a year's services rendered._

He made his way back down to the infirmary as the plan, such as it was, gelled. It felt like something he shouldn't mess up. Like he'd messed up on Sateda, letting Carson and Rodney save Ronon. That was supposed to be his job.

He tried to ignore the warmth spreading up his neck, though, when Ronon's worn and wounded face finally come to life again, just from the offer of beer and bad movies and the chance to sleep in his own bed. It wasn't much, but it was apparently just enough, because Ronon was smiling again, and John hadn't felt like a hero in a while…  
  
Parrish was the one who first made contact with Sahlen, originally as part of his research on the local plant life. Lorne seemed bored with the settlement, while Roth Seems to get along with Sahlen. The guy's so damned friendly that it doesn't mean much. Amundson didn't seem comfortable there. But he's always been the hyper-vigilant one. Better in the air than on the ground.

There was no reason to suspect Councilor Sidum's death was not an assassination, but there were few, if any, political tensions on New Sanacra. Not that they'd seen, at any rate.

 _"…why did you come to Atlantis?" Ronon followed John into his quarters and talking like everything was starting to feel a little final._

"We came out here because some people's curiosity extends this far. People like Rodney."

"Not what I meant. Why did you come?" John realized that the answer might mean something to him. Like he was looking for some sort of connection.

"Because once, I wanted to get as far away from the world as possible, thought the bottom of the planet was it. Then I found out there was more." John was pretty sure it wasn't the answer Ronon needed to hear, but Ronon didn't leave. Just stood next to him and watched the beam from the energy weapon skitter and crackle over the shield outside...

None of the reports told him anything new, but he flipped them carefully back into order and returned them to the folder, knowing he'd look again, and soon. Wishing the twisting in his gut would cease, that he wasn't missing Ronon Dex so damned much. That there was something-anything at all- that he could do.

He placed the folder on the top of the papers in his inbox. He didn't have the heart to file it away completely. Not yet.

  
 **Chapter 4**

Time dragged by slowly on Sanacra, with little to break up the days besides exercising in the yard behind the inn in the mornings, and working the fields in the afternoons.

 _Councilor Aval insisted on showing Ronon the highlights of the town and nearby countryside himself._

"There are mines off in those hills to the northeast," Aval explained, brushing a large insect from his sleeve, "which we abandoned once we no longer had the manpower- or need- to run them anymore". Ronon could see the glint of the river that had once sustained the mine's machinery, running past buildings falling to ruin off in the distance, bit from where he stood, could not see the mines themselves.

Household gardens teemed with life and color, all the way out to the river that ran between the western side of the settlement and the agricultural fields. Its water was clear and quick, even with several irrigation channels cutting into it, and ran south towards the grazing land.

They continued back into the center of town, to the square, where children chased each other across the plaza and in between market stalls. The square seemed too large, and Ronon said so, feeling awkward for pointing out what was surely obvious.

"It was built for a larger population than ours," Aval's response was cheerfully uninsulted. "But it serves its purpose. The extra space is convenient for the trading ships. Instead of landing on the outskirts of town and hauling their wares to market, they can land at market directly."

"When are they due to arrive?" Ronon asked, hoping the question seemed casual, not wanting to offend.

"Three months from now, almost to the day. A hundred and forty nine days from now. It is an event that you cannot miss. Our quiet little town really comes to life, then, with a noisy festival, sometimes lasting as long as ten days."  
\---

Since that first morning, Ronon kept a careful count of the days in his head, but allowed no trace of his awareness to be seen. He couldn't afford to advertise that it was important. Letting others know that he wanted something so much would only give them something to hold over him.

Itris and Atura were sitting at a boisterous table at the inn when Ronon returned from his twelfth day in the field- _only one hundred and thirty seven days more_ \- and waved him over to join the group.

I _t would be rude not to_ , Teyla scolded, in his head, and he found himself wishing that McKay could, for once, be his voice of social reason. It was too late to pretend he hadn't seen them, anyway, so he made his way over and sat down next to Atura, who had made space for him.

Dinner was the same stew and bread it had been all week, but the company had grown used to him, at least. After the first few meals, when he'd been discovered as a local celebrity, they no longer pressed him for stories and information beyond the point of comfort.

But even that had to end sometime.

"So, if I may be so bold as to ask," Mira, the innkeeper's wife, looked at him with a hint of embarrassment shading her aging features. "What happened on New Sanacra that caused you to come here?"

"My people were attacked," Ronon sighed, having expected the question for days now. "We'd been separated. An ally told me they'd retreated back through the gate. Ah. Ring. Told me to get through before the gate shut down. I could tell something was off, but I ran to join them. They weren't here when I arrived."

Ronon drank some more ale, pretended it didn't taste bitter. Forced himself, again, to believe that Sheppard and the others were alive. That they were okay, somewhere, even if they weren't here, with him. Even if they'd abandoned him.

"Who is this ally you speak of?" called Lunz, the burly equipment steward, from his seat at the opposite end of the table.

"Man named Sahlen. A healer."

"Sahlen! I remember him. It is good that he is still alive. How is he?"

"He has a family. Didn't get to know him that well." He shrugged, tore off some more bread and passed it over to Atura, who liked to shape it into small animals before eating.

"Doctor Sahlen was trying to find a cure for the sickness," Itris cut in to explain, leaning over her plate. "But when the time came, he was afraid that his son would become ill. He did promise to try to return."

"From what I can tell, it's unlikely. He told us that this was a dead world."

"Did he send you here on purpose?" Atura pranced another misshapen bread-animal through the air and into her mouth.

"I don't know." Ronon swallowed, forcing himself not to fidget. It was something he didn't like considering, since he could never come up with an answer. He looked back to Itris, and decided to change the subject. "So how did you cure the sickness?"

Itris nodded and swallowed before beginning. "It abated years ago, thank the gods. Once the bulk of our people left, our population was not so densely packed within the confines of the town. It seems most likely that the disease was thereby unable to spread so easily."

"That's good," Ronon agreed, looking down to his hands. He was pretty sure the bread-shark he was making would defeat anything Atura could come up with.  
\---

McKay was the last one to stumble through the gate, but Sheppard caught his arm, managing to keep him from falling, before looked up. "Everyone alright?"

"Yes sir," Lieutenant Brecker nodded, tying the bandage to Teyla's arm now that they were still for a moment, even though Keller was already crossing the floor towards them.

"Okay. Teyla, infirmary. Rodney?"

"I'm _fine_ ," McKay growled. "Need me at the debrief?"

"I got this one."

"Off to the labs to make sure we're not awash in raw sewage by midnight."

"Thanks," Sheppard sighed, leaving Brecker to follow Teyla towards the infirmary as he mounted the steps to Carter's office.

"How was he?" Carter asked, sitting down behind her desk.

"Brecker? He's doing a great job." John sat down. "Good call, pulling him from lab security."

"I figured someone who was already familiar with Doctor McKay's particular brand of insanity would be the best addition."

"Appreciate it."

"I'm glad _someone_ does," Carter grimaced out towards the control room.

Sheppard cocked his head, scowling. "Why, has he said anything?"

"No. Just the rumor mill. There are a lot of disappointed people out there, John, who would have liked a chance to join your team."

"We didn't exactly have the time to run auditions, here. Lorne's just lucky I didn't grab Roth or Amundson. Would have made the most sense, really."

"I know. But I don't know where the chatter is coming from. I heard it from Zelenka, who isn't comfortable giving me names."

"You think I should follow up on it?"

"I don't see how, unless it escalates. If you make it an issue, it will become one. If business goes on as usual…"

"Everyone will be complaining about something else by the end of the week," Sheppard agreed.

"Possibly tonight, if McKay doesn't figure out the septic system."

"Don't get me started." Sheppard leaned back, feeling the stretch in the small of his back, and resettled. "I had to listen to three hours of his complaints and overqualifications already, today."

"I'll bet," Carter smirked conspiratorially, and Sheppard was instantly sure she'd assigned him the duty for her own personal amusement. "Okay. Well. Other than that, how was the mission? Teyla?"

"Got her arm grazed with a knife, bleeding a lot, but she says she's okay. Already down in the infirmary."

Carter nodded, leaning back in her chair and turning on the recorder. "Good," she said, waiting for him to begin the initial report.

"Okay, well. We got out to Dagan at about 0900 this morning…"  
\---

Ronon wiped the sweat from his brow with a gritty arm, and was beginning to tie the next bale off when he heard the noise.

A low roar, coming from the east. Squinting, he saw the vapor trail cutting through the sky in a landing trajectory.

If it was a trader vessel, it was two and a half months early. _It's too soon, I need more time_.  The ship was too loud to be a dart, and too small, now that it was descending, to be a cruiser. Nevertheless, he wasn't the only one standing in the field calculating the distance to the nearest weapons cache, and no one said anything when he began to run for the bridge back to town.

Continuing eastward and leaving the settlement behind, he ran for ten minutes before the ship came into view. It had touched down in the grassland by the western river, and Ronon could smell the cooling metal already.

But by the time he drew near enough to call out, the engines were powering up again, less raucously than before, and it was taking off.

Ronon stumbled to a stop, and watched it go.

"They were fixing something," Atura's voice came from the edge of the tall reeds, and Ronon spun to look at her, irritated that he hadn't noticed her presence. "They're running late, the lady said."

"Yeah?" Ronon didn't bother hiding the aggravation in his voice.

"I told her maybe we could help, but the lady giving the orders said they couldn't stay on the ground for long." Atura frowned, glancing up at Ronon and reading the disappointment she found there. "She was mean. I don't think she would have let you go with them."

Ronon winced. For someone so young, her voice managed accusation and sympathy at the same time. _Maybe Teyla was like this, when she was young_. "How d'you know that's what I wanted?"

"When I said that traders came here with ships, you smiled." she pursed her lips, cocking her head up at him, a little sad. "Only you _meant_ it, that time."

"Ah." Ronon shrugged, feeling strange and guilty, not liking her taking so much notice of him. "Maybe. Anyway." He sighed, found a tired grin for her, and shook his head. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was in my mother's garden," she pointed back to one of the patches not far from the city. "Ran out here when I saw the trails in the sky."

"Your mother is probably worried. You should come back with me."

"Fine," Atura grumbled, but began to walk. Ronon deliberately slowed his pace so she could keep up over the uneven terrain. "Is she angry?"

"Huh?"

"Is my mother angry?"

"Didn't see her, but I doubt it," Ronon shrugged. _Woman seems reasonable enough._

"Good," Atura decided, and began to hum to herself as they continued onward, back towards the edge of the city, where half the populace seemed to be waiting like some curious wall that wouldn't extend out past the edge of the gardens.

"Tell you what," Ronon slowed. "It's safe now. Why don't you go on and tell everyone about it. I'm going to go take a walk for a while, but I'll come and listen to you tell them all about it at the inn tonight."

Atura was reluctant, raising confused eyes at him, so Ronon continued.  "That is, if I can fight my way close enough to your table to hear what is _sure_ to be the story of the year."

In an instant,  Atura brightened, clearly excited to be the center of attention. "Okay!"

Ronon watched her scamper back towards the town, relieved that the talking was finally fucking over with. As soon as the townspeople began to converge on her, he turned away again, and let his feet lead him back towards the erstwhile landing site.

The ground was still warm from the ship's engines, and he found himself hoping bitterly that their repairs weren't enough to keep them airborne for very long.

He had to get out of here. This world was as nothing. Just toil and repetition and the risk of making connections that he didn't want to keep. There was no fight here, nothing past what he imagined while exercising behind the inn at sunrise. There was no purpose.

 _Keep cool_ , he forced himself to think, but he was thinking in Sheppard's terms, now, and as soon as he realized it, it ceased to help.

Because he was _here_ and Sheppard was _dead_ or _somewhere_ and he didn't have the first clue what to do about it, and no chance to figure it out for another hundred and thirty three days. At least.

It should have meant that he had time  But by the time he left this world, there might not be anything to return to.

And if there was, it might not want him back.

Ronon walked on, glancing up towards the boarded-over mine, nestled in the low hills. Considered exploring it, but he'd learned, long ago, that mines were usually abandoned for a reason, and he'd _never_ learned to like close spaces, so he walked around the base of the hill to the other side.

Eventually, his feet found the riverbank, and he began to follow it southwards, ignoring the few buildings falling to ruin as much as he could. They were too much like him, right now, or he was too much like them. Stuck here, alone and without purpose, and with the beginnings of a headache gnawing at the base of his skull.  
\---

Teyla was released from the infirmary with seven stitches underneath a new bandage, and a worn look in her eyes, but she accepted John's presence as he walked her back to her quarters.

John watched with silent dismay as she set out two cups for the tea she was brewing, which would probably prove to be very relaxing, and would surely taste awful.

One day, when she was in a good mood, John would accuse her of being the recreational drug kingpin of Atlantis, but today wasn't the day for that. It was obvious that something unpleasant was on her mind.

He went first. "How are you doin'?"

"I am tired, John, but it will pass. I am frustrated, and I worry."

"About Ronon?"

"Not just about Ronon, though he is rarely far from my concern," Teyla admitted, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. "No.  Unfortunately, my concerns of late have been more selfish in nature."

"What do you mean?"

"I do not wish to speak ill of Lieutenant Brecker in _any_ way. He is a good man, strong and fast in the field, and he is respectful. I like him very much. But overhearing some of the others, as he escorted me to the infirmary..." Teyla trailed off, shaking her head in frustration. "It felt as if they saw Ronon as someone who was to be _overcome_ for their own personal good. And while I wish I did not understand this concern about status among people, I believe that I _do_."

"You just wish that you didn't know it," John finished, taking the cup she offered with a nod as she busied herself with the pot. "Me too, for the record." He blew the steam off the top. "Hey," he continued, after a moment. "Can you tell me what was said? Who said it?"

"Amundson was there, as was Roth, but he looked uncomfortable with the words being exchanged. I do not believe he shares the sentiments of the others," she sighed, sitting back on the couch. "Amundson was very congratulatory, and the tall man from Major Tennant's team said 'good on you, glad you finally got your shot.'"

Teyla's mouth quirked into a thin smirk as she dropped the sarcastically masculine intonation. "Amundson, for his part, said that things were as they should be, with _real_ military protecting the important visiting diplomats such as myself, rather than suspected _murderers_."

"Ah." John rubbed a hand across his eyes. "I don't know. The guy's an ass, but who knows. I'll to talk to Lorne about it."

"I would prefer that you did not."

"Teyla, if you're uncomfortable, and not to make light of my concern in that regard, but if people have a problem with Ronon or with you, then they have a problem with the way things are run around here. I have to keep it all on an even keel."

"They were not deliberately trying to cause insult," Teyla reasoned.

"That's as may be, but it was caused anyway, and I don't like it. I'm not going to have any of my people making anyone else feel unwelcome, much less convicting anyone of _murder without any proof_."

"I do not know all of your people well, John, but I do not believe that you can change their minds on these matter so easily."

It was irritating, hearing Teyla speaking so reasonably. It felt like she was backpedaling, and John was inwardly furious that any of his men could make her feel so uncomfortable. So much an outsider.   Because if things were this bad for Teyla, then what were they like for Ronon?

"Maybe not, but they don't get to decide that one person is more disposable than another. It's not just _rude_ , it will cause serious problems if I don't handle it, okay?" 

John swallowed, taking a moment to think. "Look. Your name won't come up, if that counts for anything. But this bullshit can't continue." He sipped his tea, and found it less bitter than he'd expected. "Besides. Hopefully, sometime soon, I might have to order them out to help us get Ronon _back_ , and I won't tolerate any hesitation on their part because of something they only _think_ they know."

Teyla bowed her head, then, and raised it with a smile. "Thank you. I must admit, I am glad to hear these words, and that you have not yet given up hope on finding Ronon."

John shrugged, and looked into his tea. "Don't worry about it. You're my friend.  You guys are one of us.  And I miss him too."  
¬---

Ronon cupped the water to his mouth and drank deeply, before splashing the rest over his face, letting it cool his skin as it soaked into the hair at his temples and ran down through his beard.

Leaning back on his heels, he looked out over the land. More hills, a few more trees. The sun reflecting too brightly off a distant lake as it drew nearer to the horizon.

It would get dark, soon, and Ronon knew, theoretically, that he should turn back. He just couldn't find the energy to find a reason to return.

No one- no one he _cared_ about- waited for him back in the town. No one he missed, because maybe he hadn't been here long enough, or maybe he just didn't have the room for it.

He already missed Atlantis, and Teyla and Rodney. He probably missed John Sheppard _far_ too much. But imagining that he was missed in turn felt pathetic, somehow. Assuming that someone was alive to miss him. Like he deserved it if they were, like they thought of him the way he thought of them.

He stood up, needing the movement to stem the tide of distracting and depressing thoughts. The former could kill him in an instant, the latter much more surely, and much more slowly.

Even with the false hope the day had brought, the traders would still come. By then, he might earn enough money to buy his way onboard, or maybe he could work for his passage. If those failed, he could steal into the ship, and hide until they landed again.

If that didn't work, he'd take an injured crewman's place, if he needed to. Take hostages if he didn't.

He wasn't entirely unwilling to kill, if it came down to it.

And _that_ was the unwelcome thought that sped his pace once again. Downriver, away from the shame that the knowledge brought, the failure it meant.

He could never return to face John Sheppard having taken such an action, and he hated that he knew it, because it left him with no plan more real than hope. Hope was never enough.

He followed the river until he could look back and see no remnants of civilization.

Maybe it was penance, maybe he needed to have some illusory escape to set his mind back to rights, but his head was swimming, the ache creeping up behind his eyes, and for the first time he could remember, he needed to be alone.

Mostly, though, and more immediately, he needed to eat. The hunger was already beginning to claw fiercely at his gut.

Scanning the edge of the river, he soon found some wild cousins of the domesticated tubers grown in every garden. The leaves were thinner, and the roots tore a little when he lifted them from the ground, but they were plentiful enough, and tasted no different once rinsed off in the water.

He took his meal back towards the rocks on the outside of the river's oxbow, eating and staring up at the stars a while, pretending not to miss the small sting of brine as wind swept up over the pier. He thought he recognized some of the stars, but wasn't sure. McKay would know, just like he seemed to know everything.

 _"Ronon. Need you to come with me down to the labs." Sheppard's body followed his head into the gym. "Bring your gun."_

"What's up?" Ronon asked, following John into the transporter. When they stepped out, John shrugged.

"I don't know. We'll have to ask Rodney," he said, and opened the door to the lab.

"Great, great. You're here. Ronon, I want you to hit this sequence of targets. Once with your gun set to stun, and then do it all over again once you've increased the setting to kill. Got that?"

"Ah. Sure." Ronon shrugged, glancing over at Sheppard for confirmation, maybe permission.

Sheppard stuck out his lower lip, similarly confused. "Do as the man says, Ronon."

"But." Ronon unholstered his gun, spun it once, before shaking his head and looking back to McKay. "I thought you said no gunfire was allowed in the labs?"

"Normally, no, it's a hanging offense. But this?" McKay waved an anxious hand around the room, gesturing over the equipment. "This is for science."

"Okay." It didn't make any kind of sense, but this was McKay's game, not his, so he took aim, and hit all twelve targets, once, then again. "That work?"

"Yes, yes, that's fine. I should have the data imported into the power grid in a few minutes."

"Why?" Sheppard asked, confused. "Care to clue the rest of the class in?"

"In the event that, say, Ronon zaps anything important in the, ah, highly unlikely event that he misses the invading enemy of the week, the charge from his weapon won't disrupt the power flow to the rest of the city."

"Because if we're being overrun, you want to make sure the lights are on?"

"No," McKay rolled his eyes. "I want to make sure I don't have an energy crisis to handle while I'm trying to make the adjustments to the system that will save us all."

"Of course," Sheppard nodded, sharing Ronon's puzzled look. "Makes perfect sense."

"I'm sure it doesn't, not to either of you Neanderthals. Now get out of my way. I have work to do, here."

"Come on, fellow caveman. Let's go bang some rocks together," Sheppard gestured out into the hallway.

"Bang rocks together?"

"Ah. Yeah. Something cavemen did a long time ago to make tools."

"And cavemen are stupid?" Ronon asked, wondering what world they lived on. He hadn't heard of these people.

"McKay thinks so. I figure they only had rocks as tools, and still managed to survive. If that's what you've got on hand, it doesn't seem so stupid to me. I'd like to think that you or I would do the same."

Ronon bit his lip against the grin that threatened to break out, and turned it into another question. "What would McKay do?"

"Probably invent the chainsaw, at least. And the microwave the next day. Pretty sure he'd get eaten on the third, though." Sheppard scratched a hand across his stomach. "Speaking of which. I'm starved. Wanna go grab something to eat?"

"Sure. Should we get the others?"

"Nah. Just." Sheppard paused, glancing up towards the transporters. "It'll take too long," he finished, and it sounded kind of off, but Ronon's grin started to gain a foothold anyway, even if he didn't know exactly why.   
\---

Thirst was all Ronon knew upon waking, and when he stood, dizziness, and his eyes were too dry and scratchy to open completely, let alone focus.

He reeled a little too much as he made his way to the river, falling to his knees as he crouched alongside it. The water was shocking and cold on his hands and face, and it cut through him as he drank it down, but he was too thirsty, too warm, to care.

His hands were numb, he began to realize, but they caught him as the fell back to the ground, wretching until there was nothing left but muscles straining against the cramp in his gut.

He lay back down again, rolling over and squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing in his head, curling himself against the air, only for a moment. He had to get up. Get more water. Had to find help.

But he was so damned _tired_.  
\----

John knew he probably missed Ronon too much, but he wasn't surprised by it. Most days.

There was a time. There were times that Ronon's eyes would hold his just that instant too long, or one of them would almost hesitate to leave the gym, or. Or a lot of things.

John didn't last as long as he did by not learning the signs, or recognizing the feelings. He only lasted as long as he did because he didn't act on them. Didn't talk about them. With anyone, almost ever. Never when he was within fifty miles of the nearest installation.

And he'd never been tempted, not really. Not enough. Not until that first insane year out here, when they were cut off from Earth and every day woke with the promise of impending disaster that they hadn't yet learned how to face.

Something had changed, though, somewhere along the line. Probably after flying a warhead on a suicide mission into a hive ship had been a reasonable plan. He'd played it off at the time, that it hadn't been any big deal, but alone in his quarters, in the quiet after the crisis, he'd allowed himself some honesty.

Because it sucked, really. All of it. Stepping back from so final an edge, unable to let anyone else in on the vertigo. Being so sure that dying for everyone was the right course, but not knowing who he was supposed to live for.

Simple honesty didn't change anything, though. Routine was routine, even if it included running for his life and protecting his people. He knew who his people were, and was starting to believe that he'd already met everyone who would ever mean anything to him.

Then there was a flash of sound in the dark, and Ronon Dex dropped unceremoniously into John's life.

John remembered watching Ronon's first wary steps, ducking into the puddlejumper, and thinking that someone, sometime, should have warned him about the man. He seemed too much a presence not to see him coming.

He was too much a presence to disappear so fucking completely.

But then again, he hadn't. Not on nights like this, when John could almost see him out of the corner of his eye, and lay awake for hours, trying to convince himself he wasn't seeing a ghost.  
\---

The afternoon wasn't shaping up to be any more pleasant than the morning, but soon, Sheppard hoped, he could retreat into his office, away from the chaos. Away from the hundred staring eyes tracked his progress at the front of the room.

"I'm not so far up the chain that I don't know what's happening on the ground, folks," he continued. "But any behavior similar to that which I've just described will not be tolerated. I am hereby ordering all team leaders to report any activity of this kind _directly_ to me, and to ensure that each and every situation is handled properly."

Sheppard scanned the faces of the assembled soldiers once again, and shook his head. He hated addressing the troops- he'd probably never get the hang of it. Before two years ago, it hadn't been something he'd ever had to learn. And now?  He was losing some of them, fast.

"So. In summary. Remember. In this galaxy, we are the visitors, and we treat each other, and our _allies_ , with the same respect we expect from one another." He forced himself into a rakish grin. "Except for the wraith. Talk shit about _them_ all you want. Dismissed."

The formation was broken, but, right along with it, so was the tension. Most of it, at least.

Lorne, who was approaching, still clearly bore the remnants of the fury he'd found when Sheppard had pulled him aside to discuss the situation with Amundson and Teyla. It had been the closest Lorne had come to losing his ever-present cool, and, deep down, Sheppard hated having to be the one to force it.

But now, on top of the rest, there was a tense focus to his movements, to his eyes. He wasted no time, just halted in front of Sheppard and said, "There's a message for you. On the screen. It's important."  
\---

Sheppard set his shoulders and turned to the screen, finding Ladon Radim's face looking back at him, as smug as ever.

"Greetings, Colonel Sheppard. It is good to see you."

"I doubt _that_ very much," Sheppard grumbled. "What do you want?"

Something flickered across Radim's eyes, but the smile stayed firmly in place. "I have information about your Satedan friend, though I fear it may only be rumor."

"Ronon?" Sheppard forgot to keep the annoyance in his voice. "What about him?"

"We believe he is on Old Sanacra."

"How do you know?"

"Allies of the Genii recently touched base on the planet in order to make some repairs. The captain of the ship spoke with some derision of the presumptive nerve of one of the locals. It seemed interesting, and a few drinks later, her pilot told us of Ronon's rumored presence there. Beyond that, I have no information. If I understand correctly, there is no way to dial the gate from the ground, so unless he has access to a ship, it is unlikely that he's left."

"You trust your source?"

"As much as I trust anyone who tells tales after drinking," Radim shrugged.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I am in your debt for cementing my position here among my people. Also, if you were to discover that I was holding this information back, I would expect massive overreaction on your part. I am merely protecting my people's interests."

Sheppard couldn't argue the logic, even if every instinct told him to. "Well, thanks. I owe you one."

"In that case, I would appreciate it if you would not hold us personally responsible in the event that the information is inaccurate. Beyond that, no thanks is needed."

"Deal. But thanks, anyway."

The video link was shut down, and Sheppard was left staring at a blank screen for seven heartbeats. Then he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to Carter's office.

  
 **Chapter 5**

 _The bells are starting to sound, down in the square, and footsteps are filtering onto the street around the corner. Panicked voices- the councilor is dead- murdered- stabbed- and the gritty ring of metal on metal- knives being drawn from scabbards. A gun being loaded._

He needs to find Sheppard and the team, needs to go to the inn, first. Before all this hits. Needs to know what's happening, but Sahlen's there, stumbling from the opposite alley, manic, grasping at him as he stumbled.

"Ronon. The ring. Follow them!" Ronon's hands come away from Sahlen's arms, wet with blood. "There's no time. Dangerous. You need to go."

"What about you-"

"The assailants only grazed me. I will survive. The guards. They suspect your friends," Sahlen coughed, holding one hand up against the bleeding. "They're looking for you. You must go before they close the ring." With his other, he held out a knife, pressing the handle into Ronon's hand before slumping against the wall. "Go!"

The chaos was boiling over out in the street, but Ronon met Sahlen's eye once more and nodded his thanks. And began to run.

Around the corner, the gate shed watery blue light over confused bystanders stepping out of doorways, heading towards the din. Ronon doesn't turn back to see the growing mob. Doesn't need to. He knows they're watching him, can see the beginnings of arms being raised in accusation, and it's completely fucked, but he can't risk stopping, because they'll probably raise weapons next.

He takes the three steps to the gate in one leap, and his foot touches down only once more on this world.

He's slides to a step on the wet grass, leaning over to catch his breath, and listens to the gate shut down behind him.

Behind him, now, on the other side of the gate or across too much sky to fathom, his team is being captured, surrounded and outnumbered. Outgunned and gunned down.

McKay's computer cracks under the impact, the shrapnel slices into his flesh, slipping too easily between unprotected ribs. John's firing on the crowd and Teyla falls to her knees, focusing on Rodney, scrabbling at the wound, hands not knowing how to help, not blocking the heavy blade swinging at her throat, and John's run out of bullets, he's reaching for his sidearm but it's all. Too. Late.

In the morning, Atlantis sends someone to recover the bodies, and a hush falls over the city while a tiny technical hiccup goes unnoticed and begins to grow. The unusual power drainage won't be noticed until Zelenka is alone in the lab in the middle of his third sleepless night, but he waits until morning to notify Carter himself. It doesn't occur to him that there's no one else already handling it.

Carter pulls herself away from the computer screen she's been staring at for an hour, the cursor blinking at the end of the last line, but she still hasn't sent the message back to Earth. She should tell Sheppard's family in person. He deserves the same respect she was able to show Teyla that first morning, three days ago when she visited the Athosian settlement for the first time.

But there's no time for that, because the long-range sensors have been offline for nine hours now, and she's puzzling through the system, trying to think like McKay to pull some sort of solution out of the crossed signals, and now she's done it. She's thinking in McKay's terms as the answer reveals itself as two wraith cruisers already scanning the planet.

Her hand is reaching for the radio when the first blast hits. And everything goes white.   
\---

The sunlight sliced through his eyelids and straight to the core of his brain, blocking out every other sense Ronon tried to remember having.

After a moment, though, or maybe an hour, the wave crested over him, and awareness began to return. Sounds, distant and hurried and ringing painfully in his ears, broke down into voices, building into words and stretching towards meaning.

He had to open his eyes, but the world was too much for him. Shadows, possibly faces and a hand reaching towards his face, brushing across his temple.

"Ronon," he heard, and it was finally something to hone in on. A capstone being pulled away to bring everything else down with it, and as everything began to fall into place, not enough of it was making any sense.

Itris and Lunz were shaking him, looking down with blurry faces and calling back over their shoulders, but their voices were so loud as to be deafening, and Ronon's head was still swimming. He needed water, not this noise washing over him.  
\---

When Ronon woke, it was because he was already walking, tripping over cobblestone as he leaned against someone- _Sheppard_ \- no. Lunz. He raised his head to see the Itris stepping hurriedly in front of them, moving towards the inn. Wanted to raise a hand after her, get her attention, but it hung heavy and numb at his side. _Must've fallen asleep on it._

Itris turned back towards them, fear in her eyes. "Not much longer. Just get him into bed, I'll bring the healer." _Why? Can you tell me what's wrong?_ But Ronon couldn't ask. She was already gone.

Then they stepped through a door into darkness, and Ronon could smell food cooking. _The inn. We're at the inn_ , but he wanted water, and he was going to ask Lunz, but they were already on the stairs. First one, then another, then a third.  
\---

Ronon could barely open his eyes enough to tell the ceiling from the wall, and his limbs might have been too weak to shift.  Numb.  But there was movement, off to his right, and a voice that called out, "Mother! He's waking up again!" Atura, probably, though he never saw her.

A few moments more, and there were hurried footsteps and a swish of  bright color, followed by Itris, leaning over him.

"Ronon. You are very ill," he heard, but couldn't understand the relief in her voice. "We found you out by the East River. The healer says you must rest, and if you can hold water down this time, you can have something to eat in a while. Are you thirsty?"

 _Yes_ , Ronon thought loudly, but it was all he could do to nod his head. It made his vision swim even more, but at least it blurred the worry in her eyes.  
\---

 _The smell of the ocean was sharp when John stepped outside, and found Ronon waiting for him. Neither said anything as they began to run an easy pace._

"Didn't think you were gonna come out today." John risked a glance at the bruises rising to the surface of Ronon's skin. The angry scuff of dried blood scabbing over on his bicep. The most visible remnants of his reunion with his traitorous people, but not the only ones.

"Likewise," Ronon sneered, eyes on the end of the pier.

"You pissed off?" Of course it was a stupid question, he knew it even before he heard the sarcasm.

"Nah, why would I be?"

They ran in silence, down to the end of the first pier and back again, and were turning out towards the second when Ronon finally began to slow down a little, and John took it as an opening.

"Okay, I get it. Yesterday sucked. I'm sorry about that."

Ronon slowed to a walk, but wouldn't look at John. "Not just yesterday, though."

"What do you mean?"

"When were you gonna tell me that I'm. Whatever I am."

"What're you talking about?"

"Carter was going to try and stop me from leaving with my squad. Said I was a security risk."

"Do you still want to leave?"

"I. That's not the point, John." Ronon turned that angry searching look on him. "I just want to know. Am I a prisoner? Slave? What?"

"You're on my team. You're one of us."

"As long as I stay in line."

"Same as anyone else here," John regretted the words the moment they came out. "But listen. This was all screwed up. Carter's still feeling her way-"

"She doesn't trust me."

"You didn't give her a chance to."

"You didn't have my back, either."

"And I'm sorry about that, but you weren't making it easy."

Ronon shook his head and kept running.  
\---

A little more than a month too late, John sat in Carter's office, and realized what he should have said, that day out on the pier with the sun shining down. That his concern had been for Ronon, that Carter's had been for the city. It wasn't entirely that clear-cut or honest, John knew, but it might have been what Ronon needed to hear.

It might have been enough to prevent all of this.

 _We don't leave our people behind, and I shouldn't have to explain to everyone who our people are twice in once hour._

John shook his head to clear it, and looked back at Carter across her desk. He leaned forward to pass her his datapad, and indicated the map glowing on the screen. "There's a space gate not thirteen hours away, even if we can't open the gate from the other end."

"I understand that, but that's not our only concern here, Sheppard, and you know it. For one, we still don't know what made him step through the gate in the first place."

"We were under _attack_ ," Sheppard strove to maintain an even tone, but he knew he was close to losing it. _This is just protocol._

"You were being arrested for a murder that Ronon may have committed, and he left you there. But that's neither here nor there. We still have no evidence that he is in need of retrieval."

"There's none to say _otherwise_ , either. We should at least give him the benefit of the doubt." Sheppard sighed, stemming the impetus to steamroll her on this. Emotional outbursts wouldn't help. "Look. He might have his own motivations, but he wouldn't endanger the team. He wouldn't leave us hanging like that. He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye, at least."

"But the fact remains that he did," Carter reasoned, though the apologetic look in her eye made it evident that she was just doing her job. Crossing the T's and dotting the I's. _A formality._

"As far as we know. Look," John interjected. "The orders we both signed off on said we'd resume the search when we had new information. Doesn't this count?"

"It's information from Ladon Radim," Carter shrugged. "Do you trust him?"

"Enough for _this_ ," Sheppard affirmed. "Besides. It makes sense. Ronon hasn't contacted us because he _can't_ contact us. It's the best lead we've got. If you're still concerned he is a security risk, we should already be out there.  And, if we _don't_ do this, if we don't follow _through_ , with all the yelling I just had to do at formation this morning, our credibility is shot. _That_ enough for the IOA?"

"Perfect," Carter relaxed, then, leaving Sheppard feeling a little ridiculous in the wake of his outburst.

Carter typed a few things into the computer and nodded to herself. "All right. Clean contact and retrieval, running it through the alpha site for quarantine. Your tactics will be not only informed by, but determined by Keller's risk assessment, and I want two additional security officers with your team. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"One last thing, John. And I know what your answer is going to be, but I need to know. Will you be able to handle…" she trailed off, leaving Sheppard to fill in the blanks. _That it might amount to nothing. That this could be the incident that results in a massive epidemic here in the city. That we might be too late. That we might not even be able to retrieve his body._

"Doesn't matter. Whatever's there to be found, I need to be there. I'll give Rodney and Teyla an out, but I'm not farming this out to another team."

"Understood. _Go_."  
\---

As soon as Keller was sure that the medics had all the evacuation supplies properly stowed, she closed the hatch, and announced that they were ready to go. Taking attendance in his head- his team, two security and three medics. Eight in all, nine returning, Sheppard waited for Keller to sit down before disengaging from the bay's docking mechanism.

"Control this is jumper one. We're ready to go."

"Dialing now, sir," Chuck said. "Okay, we've got a lock. You're cleared for takeoff."  

Easing the jumper down into the gateroom, Sheppard glanced over at Teyla, who mirrored his own apprehension. McKay, though. That was another story.

McKay was no less terrified than Sheppard had expected, but he'd been the first to suit up. That he was there at all, heading into what had to be his own personal hell, was amazing. Sheppard wanted to tell him so, but wound up asking, instead, "McKay, you sure about this?"

"Of _course_ not. Just. Hurry it up already, let's _go_."  
\---

Almost as soon as they were through, McKay was nodding to himself. "Keep bearing north. Looks like it should be up ahead." A few moments later, and Teyla's breath caught audibly in her throat.

"John, _look_ ," she pointed out the window, and John instantly recognized the shapes of scattered people, tracking their position and hurrying towards the safety of town.

"We've got life signs," Sheppard laughed. So far, at least, that was a point in their favor, allowing at least the possibility that Ronon _himself_ was alive.

"McKay? Sensor readings?"

"Radiation is well within normal limits. Air is fine."

"You're all on respirators anyway, and I don't want you touching anything until I get a read on the situation," Keller piped up from the back, sliding her pack over her shoulders before slipping her hands into the gloves.

"Right."

Sheppard was the last to leave the jumper, hurrying to catch up to Teyla and McKay before the locals drew any nearer. Several, he noted, were armed, but only two of them were holding their weapons in a ready position. Shotguns, from the look of it.

"Hello," He began, forcing himself into an easy smile that would be utterly missed behind the mask. "My name is John Sheppard, and we come in peace." Something about saying that never got old, regardless of the circumstances.  McKay, for once, didn't start sputtering in annoyed laughter.  

A man, who looked vaguely familiar, though Sheppard couldn't place it, stepped forward from the crowd. "Greetings. I am Councilor Aval, and I welcome you and yours to Sanacra." He paused, clearly puzzled. "If I may ask, why do you not breathe the air?"

Keller stepped up next to Sheppard. "We have heard that there is a disease here that has caused several fatalities," she explained.

"We mean no offense by these barriers," Teyla cut in, kindly, her voice muffled behind her mask as she tipped her head forward, bowing gently. "But we feel we must take precautions."

"That is understandable," the man agreed, a worried look crossing over his face. "And wise. The sickness has been dormant for some time. We believed it to have been eradicated some time ago, but recent events caused much concern. This being so, why have you risked this visitation?"

"We're looking for a friend of ours," Sheppard began, but whatever he was about to say next was lost when he looked at the faces of the people staring back at him. Recognition.

"Is Ronon Dex the friend of whom you speak?"

" _Yes_." Sheppard was sure the sigh of relief was amplified to an embarrassing volume by the respirator. "You've seen him? Is he here?"

"Yes. But. He is the one who has fallen ill." Aval stepped back, waving an arm through the crowd. "Please. I will take you to him myself."

"How is he?" Keller hurried to step in front of Sheppard, who swallowed down the instinct to restrain her from moving so quickly in an unknown situation. " _Please_. I am a doctor."

They were moving towards the town, now, the crowd following, chattering quietly but excited.

"He seems to be recovering, but we do not know why, I am sorry to say," Sheppard heard Aval admit. "And please forgive my intentions here, but if you can discover anything that points to the cause, I would very much appreciate your sharing the knowledge with us."

"Of course," Keller said. "But it may require us to study it for a time, back in our own facilities. But we'd be-" she cut herself off, looking askance at Sheppard.

"We'd be more than happy to help in any way we can," he confirmed, wishing he could take the ventilator off.

"Thank you," Aval nodded his head, directing the crowd around a corner. "Here we are." He stopped in front of a building that was larger than the rest, an inn, and opened a door, leading the way inside.

There were several people in the dining area, staring, caught unawares, and Aval pointed up the stairs, where a woman with graying hair and a blinding tunic appeared, attracted by the commotion.

"Itris, these are Ronon's friends," Aval said, indicating the group.

"Come with me," she said, and waited for them to mount the stairs.

Sheppard signaled the Marines to wait where they were, and was surprised that Keller allowed his team to pass in front of her, appreciating the gesture even as he recognized it as protocol.

Up the stairs he went, breathing loudly in his mask, not turning to look at Teyla or Rodney.

Because up a few more steps, the woman was holding open a door and ushering a girl out of the hallway, telling her that they needed to make room, and then there was only one more step before he'd be able to look inside that room and see Ronon.  He'd had weeks to think about it, but now.  He didn't have any more time to prepare himself for what he was about to find.

Someone bumped into him, and he realized he'd stopped short and was staring, because Ronon Dex was looking right back at him.

  
 **Chapter 6**

Sheppard hadn't thought about what he'd say when. If. _When_ he found Ronon again. There was just too much time, too many thoughts to pick apart. Too much distance, all piled up to make them strangers.

But it wasn't given a chance to matter, because Keller was pushing forward, medics in tow, to crowd around Ronon's bed.

"Ronon, it's good to see you," Keller touched his arm, his throat. "We've been so worried. Are you okay?"

Sheppard stood there with the others, extra bodies watching from just inside the doorway while she said all the things that he should have been the one to say, stepping to the side as the local healer made his way into the room.

And then Keller was ordering them out into the hallway, and closing the door in Sheppard's face.  
\---

There wasn't any point in returning to the dining hall below- it's not like they could have tried the local cuisine if they'd wanted to. The mouthpieces made talking uncomfortable, so for the most part, the three remained silent, watching the door, not knowing how worried they were supposed to be.

Eventually, though, Keller stepped out into the hallway.

"Okay. First findings, I'd say it's mercury poisoning. Almost casebook. He's weak, but his vitals are all right as far as I can tell from here. His coordination, vision and hearing seem off. He seems to very confused, and he's not particularly coherent, but he's aware. He's also dehydrated, but apparently he's been sweating and vomiting a lot, which is a good sign. I've drawn blood and have him on an IV for now."

"Can we see him?"

"Not yet. He's showing some discoloration that I'm concerned about, and before I can be sure, I need you to take Ryerson out to the river."  
\---

"How could he be the only one who has this?" McKay asked Ryerson, but it was the woman, Itris, who answered.

"He was found out by the East river," she pointed up at the water cutting across the land about a mile ahead. "Our people tend to avoid the area. It's a sad reminder of all the people we've lost."

Teyla turned her head back towards the group. "Was that where the illness appeared most often?"

"Not at all. It was everywhere, as much in the center of town as it was here. Some of the more distant farms were not afflicted, but we thought that was because they were least likely to come across anyone who was ill. But once our numbers grew smaller, we could no longer operate the mines, and so families began to move west, to be closer to the fields, instead."

"If Keller is right, that might have saved their lives," Ryerson grinned over to Sheppard, before turning his attention back to the ground in front of him.

"Hang on a minute," McKay began, and already Sheppard was cringing at the t _hese-people-are-idiots-and-I'm-going-to-prove-it_ tone to his voice. "How long was it between the development of the mining operation and the first cases of the disease?"

"A hundred years or more, I should think," Itris caught Sheppard's glare at Rodney, and continued on. "Though to be honest, I do not see what the connection is."

"Well, for starters-"

" _McKay_ ," Sheppard warned, wishing they could hurry up. The sooner they had the answer, the sooner they could get back home.  
\---

By the time Ryerson and McKay had confirmed the mercury levels in the water, soil, and plants, Sheppard had been ready to return for half an hour.

Finally, Ryerson stood, tapping at his radio. "Doctor Keller, please come in."

"Doctor Ryerson?"

"Mercury tests are positive."

"Very, very positive," McKay interjected, sealing the last of the packing the sealed samples into the case.

That was Sheppard's cue to tap into the channel. "Does that mean we can take these damned masks off now?"

After a moment, Keller's voice came over the line. "Doctor Ryerson, what's your assessment?" 

"Has he started to show any other symptoms?"

"No, the IV seems to be doing it's job. I've talked to some of the people here, some more, and they say he's been steadily improving since they got him into bed this morning. It fits more than anything else. I say we've got it."

"What about the discoloration? Still thinking it's acrodynia?"

"Maybe not, but similar enough. I've talked to the healers, and this is a common early symptom, even in adults. I'd like to check it out, more, once we've got him under a scanner, but it's not the first different reaction we've seen in Pegasus."

"Okay," Ryerson's voice sounded suddenly clear, and Sheppard turned to see him yanking the mask from his face with a look of utter relief. "Let's ditch these things."

Sheppard followed suit, feeling uncanned air against his face for the first time in hours. "All right," he said, wiping a hand over his chin. "We're on our way back, you want to start getting him ready to go?"

"We'll be ready when you get here."

"Great. Sheppard out." He turned around again, found everyone already standing, brushing dirt from their clothes. "Alright, let's head out."  
\---

Keller opened the door when Sheppard knocked, and the same girl he'd seen earlier ducked her peeked from behind her.  Itris stepped forward.

"Atura, have you been getting underfoot?"

"No," the girl began, glancing at Keller, clearly hoping for backup as she stepped forward into the hallway. "She said I could visit."

"It's true. We've determined that there's no risk, and even if there was, she would already have been exposed." Keller smiled.

"Well, come along now, Atura. We'll only be in the way, here."

Atura turned her face up to Sheppard. "Are you coming back?"

"Yes. Soon. We're going to want to talk to everyone about what's going on, though Itris, here, should be able to get everyone up to speed, right?"

"I am to instruct everyone to stay as far away from the East River as possible."

"Right. McKay? What do you think?"

"We should send a team out, see what we can do about finding the causes, see if there's a way to fix it. Might be able to take a look at the gate, too. See if there's any way to get it up and running."

Itris, for the first time since they'd met, broke out into a wide grin. "You believe it is possible?"

"I'm not making any promises. I haven't even taken a look at it yet. But we might be able to work something out," his crooked grin cut towards Sheppard, clearly uncaring that he was making an offer that hadn't been vetted yet. Sheppard didn't care. They'd probably be bringing it up to Carter at some point anyway.

"I must go and tell the Councilor," she beamed, herding Atura down the steps before her. "Thank you. Very much. _All_ of you."  
\---

Sheppard thought he should have realized how ill Ronon was the moment he'd first caught sight of him, but he hadn't. Not until now.

Maybe it was the discoloration, the peeling skin, or maybe just the daylight was fading from the window. Maybe it was the heavy graceless weaving of his movements, as Sheppard and Lieutenant Tyler managed to steer him down the stairs.

He didn't even resist when they managed to get him onto a field stretcher for the trek back to the jumper. Just moved his head around slowly, eyes losing their focus almost as soon as they found it.

Sheppard was about to ask if someone had grabbed his gun, but he saw the holster dangling from Teyla's arm as she passed, saw the handles of his knives sticking of McKay's pack as it was stowed under the bench.

He finished securing the stretcher into place in the jumper when that focus found him, and he froze, for a moment, watching as Ronon tried to work his jaw.

The effort was too much, though, and his eyes began swimming again, but the scowling eyebrows were clear enough.

"… _real_ ," Ronon might have croaked through chapped lips, but Sheppard wasn't sure. Nevertheless, something unfroze in his shoulders and he smirked.

 _Yeah buddy. It's real. We're taking you home._

It took a moment, but Ronon's head dipped over to the side and back a little. It was probably a nod.  
\---

"Colonel Sheppard, your orders were to quarantine at the _alpha_ site," Carter intoned dangerously, the shield still not dropped. Sheppard cut his glance back to Keller, imploring, and she stepped towards the front of the jumper to explain, hand hovering over her earpiece.

"It wasn't a disease. It was mercury poisoning on a _massive_ scale. We can come in under decontamination protocols, but there were no contagions to be found."

"Is Ronon with you?"

"Yes ma'am. But he got a pretty strong dose, so to speak, and we need to get him to the infirmary."

"I see." A pause, and then. "Okay, you're cleared."  
\---

Sheppard brought the jumper to rest in the cleanroom bay, and dropped the hatch, grabbing as much gear as he could to drop in the bins on the way out for scanning.

"All right. Guys, help me with Ronon. Ladies," he bowed to Teyla and Keller, "see you after the showers."  
\---

Getting Ronon's IV disconnected had been easy enough, though getting him up off the stretcher was a hassle, but getting him undressed and rinsed off was a nightmare.

 _Least he's too weak and confused to put up much of a fight_ , Sheppard thought, feeling vaguely traitorous as he held Ronon's head up under the stream, willing him to just stop struggling for a minute.

He ignored the other traitorous thoughts, too, the ones brought on by warm flesh sliding wetly across his own. Being naked in the same room as two of your officers and Rodney McKay, helped greatly in that regard though.  He shut his eyes and ducked his face back into the stream.  

\---

 _Thank god for spare clothes_ , Sheppard thought, slipping his feet into the sneakers from his locker, raising his head up to see McKay, already dressed, holding up a set of scrubs, his mouth slashed in crooked apprehension.

"No _freakin_ ' way. Took us ten minutes to get him stripped."

McKay relaxed at that, grabbing a gown off the bin in the corner, and tossing it over towards him.

"Cool," Sheppard stood, following McKay to the corner where they'd left Ronon sitting against the wall, only to find that he'd slid down. "Grab his arm, would ya?"

Ronon was coming out of it, a little, but too late to fight the manipulations that got him dressed and into the wheelchair that Ryerson had tracked down.

"How long's he gonna be like this?" he called, entering the isolation room.

"Another day or so, is my guess," Keller said, the ends of her ponytail dampening the back of her uniform. She stepped towards him to intercept the wheelchair. "Nice shirt."

"Huh? Sheppard looked down at himself, found Johnny Cash flipping him the bird. "Oh yeah. Figured, if things were bad enough that I'm having to come in through decon, there's not much chance anyone would give a damn."

"Not exactly the kind of thing you can just wear anywhere," Carter's voice agreed, and Sheppard squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before turning to see her standing in the observation room above. She was smirking, though, so it wasn't too much an infraction.

"You guys got it, here?" he watched as they settled Ronon in the bed. Keller nodded, distractedly. "Then I'll get out of your way, here."  
\---

Fifteen minutes later, he entered the observation room.

"Back in uniform so soon?"

"Ah. Yeah. Sorry about that." Sheppard ran a hand through his hair, looking down into the infirmary. Keller already had Ronon under the scanner, but beyond that, he could see nothing. "How is he?"

"Keller doesn't know, yet, but she's filled me in on what you all found out there," Carter came closer, leaning on the rail, mirroring Sheppard's stance.

"Right."

"Look, John. I know this won't make it any easier, but he's going to be okay. You got to him in time, and you brought him back."

"Yeah, but." Sheppard waved his hand over the scene. "He's still lying there, and we still don't know what's going on."

"For now, he's getting better, and that's our only concern. Worry about talking later." Carter sighed. "Look, John. You should be happy, right now. I mean, _yes_ , he's sick, but how often does this sort of thing turn out to be this easy?"

"Right." _But it hasn't turned out yet. We're still waiting._  
\---

By the time Keller came in to report, Teyla and Rodney were waiting with them.

"Okay, great. You're all here," Keller began. "I've looked over the scanner, and our original assumptions were correct. Pretty much your run-of-the-mill  mercury poisoning. He needs rest, a lot of fluids, and time. It looks like most of it was vomited not long after ingestion, but we've got him on activated charcoal and dimercaprol in his IV to clean his system out."

John felt himself beginning to relax. _He's going to be fine._

But Keller continued. "From what I understand, he got hit just over twenty four hours ago, but I am still worried about damage to his nervous system, as well as his kidneys. He's not out of the woods yet. Now that he's stabilized, we could move him to the sick bay, but I'd rather keep him here. The confusion is going to last for a while, and I don't want to risk over-stimulation right now."

"But you think he's going to be okay?"

"I do, John. We got there in time, and so far at least, he is responding quite well to treatment.

"Good."  
\---

Sheppard forced himself to go running, eat breakfast, sit through two meetings, eat lunch, and finish the field report before letting himself head back to the observation room. Some sort of penance for the not-even-hourly visits that he'd maintained through the night.

This time, though, when he looked down into the room, Ronon was sitting up. His eyes were still closed, but his expression was clear enough. _Boredom_.  John had never been so relieved to see that look on anyone's face in his entire life.

He reached to press the comm unit, but hesitated, tapping his radio instead.

"Keller, this is Sheppard."

"Yes, Colonel?"

"I think he's awake. Can I go in there?"

"Sure, but no more than five minutes. I'm with a patient right now, so you'll need your code. I'll be down there myself in a while."

"Thanks."  
\---

His first words to Ronon in a month were quiet, uninspired.

"Ronon, hey." He stepped closer to the bed, trying not to stare at the pink discoloration creeping out in fits and starts from beneath Ronon's collar and sleeves, and watched awareness creep over him.

"Sheppard?" His voice was small, rough, little more than a whisper, really, but his eyes sought John's out, and managed to hold, for a moment at least. "What're you doing here?"

"Checking up on you. Get used to it. How do you feel?"

Ronon apparently had to think about it for a moment. "Like shit." The corners of his mouth turned down a little at the corners, barely visible underneath the overgrown facial hair. "You came?"

"Of course we did," John replied, trying to ignore the uncertainty in Ronon's voice. "Sorry it took us so long, by the way."

Something crossed over his face, but it settled into the beginnings of a tired smile. "Thanks."

John was wondering what he was supposed to say next, he was terrible at this sort of thing, but the door swished open behind him, and Keller was coming into the room. It was time to go.  
\---

Teyla and McKay were sitting at the table next to Lorne's team when Sheppard set his tray down, all too aware of the waiting stares he was receiving from all parties. Teyla moved to speak, but Lorne got there first. "How is he, sir?"

He sat down next to McKay, but angled his head back so he could see Lorne, Amundson, Parrish and Roth as well. "He's going to be fine. Seems a little more with it, now. Starting to talk, but he seems pretty tired."

"John, that is _wonderful_ news," Teyla beamed from across the table. "Do you suppose we would be allowed in to see him?"

"Run it by Keller, when you're done here, but I think so."

"Great," McKay said, his mouthful of tuna casserole doing little to muffle the enthusiasm in his voice.

"I'm glad to hear it, sir," Lorne said, Roth and Parrish grinning along enthusiastically. Amundson nodded once, about as congenial as he ever got. "Maybe soon we'll figure out what the hell happened, huh?"

"Here's hoping," Sheppard raised his glass in a toast, and turned his attention towards the casserole.  
\---

John was about to take his radio off for the night when the call came through. Keller's voice, quick and urgent.

"Colonel Sheppard, I need you in the infirmary immediately."

"I'm on my way," Sheppard launched himself out of bed and into his running shoes before hurrying down to the transporters. Three minutes later, he was walking into the quarantine room.

He waved his hand over the control, and it opened, but he didn't enter.

"It's okay, Colonel. You can come in," Keller's voice was quiet, placating, and she rose, sliding her hand from Ronon's neck as she stood.

Ronon, however, only nodded, barely raising his head look at him, and away again. _Too damned distant, what-_

"Ronon, hey. What's going on?"

"I don't want him talking right now," she sat carefully on the bed, next to Ronon. "I'll start with what I know, and I want you to ask him yes or no questions as much as you can. Okay?"

"Okay," Sheppard didn't know what to do, so he grabbed a chair sitting at the edge of the room and pulled it close to the bed, sitting in front of Ronon, who, upon closer inspection, was wild-eyed and tense.

 _Scared._

Leaning on his elbows, he folded his hands together against the instinct to reach out. "What happened?"

"He was attacked," Keller's voice wavered. "Someone tried to strangle him."

 **Chapter 7**

" _What_?" John wanted the universe to just stop, for a minute. Give him a second to catch up.

 _Fuck_.

Taking a deep breath, John leaned over, halting when Ronon pulled back, eyes on him now, untrusting. Suspicious, though how much was habit, and how much was situational, John wasn't about to guess. Ronon seemed too young and too old all at once, and his eyes moved around the room like they'd done when he'd first come to Atlantis.

"It's alright," he said, showing his hands. "I just." He moved forward again, and this time, Ronon tilted his head back, still watching John's face, and let him look at his neck.

Bruises bled into the faded patches of discoloration caused by the poisoning, too much abuse in too short a time. One bruise stood out, darker than the others, mirroring the tattoo on the other side of Ronon's throat.

John looked over to Keller, needing explanation, as Ronon reached over to grab the cup of melting ice chips from the tray, tried too hard to swallow a few down.

"Okay," she began, pulling her uncombed hair back into a ponytail. "One, he's going to be fine. I don't think there will be any lasting damage, but he shouldn't try to talk for a day or two."

"Did you black out?" John asked Ronon, knowing Keller would be the one answering, but it didn't feel right leaving him out of the conversation. Ronon shook his head, tilting his head slightly at Keller.

"It was close," she sighed. "The lights were still off when I came in, and found him like this," There was something in Keller's tone that indicated some small polishing of the facts, but John let it slide, for now at least. "From what I can tell, no one saw anything, but Ryerson's pulling the security footage right now."

"Ryerson?"

"He was on duty. He and Doctor Li were hit with stunners, so I want him recovering once it's completed, but I can call security and-"

Sheppard raising his head, sharply, catching Ronon's mortified expression briefly as he tried to fucking _think_.

"I need my team working on this." He sighed. "I want the feeds as soon as possible."

"I'll go see how Ryerson's doing," Keller nodded. "I'll be right back."

John waited until the door was closed again. "Did you see who did this to you?"

A slow, irritated shake of his head, and Ronon pointed up towards the lights with a cutting motion. _Dark_.

"Our guys?" As far as the conversations they needed to have went, this shouldn't have been the first of them. _Or the last, but. Never mind._

A hesitant nod tapered off into a shrug as he held up an index figure.

 _One assailant. He doesn't understand this, either._

"You sleeping when it happened?"

A nod, then, glancing towards the door. "Fought him off. He ran." Even whispering looked painful.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Another shrug, tending towards the negative.

"Okay, well if you think of anything. Well. Are you okay now?"

Ronon moved like he was going to speak again, but the door was opening again, and Keller was bringing a laptop in. Ronon nodded his assent instead. _Sure. Fine._

"Good." He looked up to Keller, taking the laptop from her. "It's all on here?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Can we move him out of here? We need to get him somewhere more secure."

Keller gave Ronon an appraising look that he clearly didn't want, but the flinch was minor. "Ah. Well? Okay. The IV needs to stay in, and he needs to be kept warm," she said, checking the drip rate. "Because between the saline-" she shook her head, cutting herself off. "He's going to need to get some more sleep, and I need to be able to check in on him in about seven hours to see about getting his line out, and discharging him properly."

If Ronon was annoyed by the conversation they were about him, he didn't let on. Probably because he wasn't paying any attention at all, just staring at the floor.

"Ronon?" Keller crouched next to his knees, inserting herself into his line of vision. "You feeling up to getting out of here?"

John couldn't be sure that he'd been heard, but after a moment, saw Ronon give a slight nod.

"And you'll have Colonel Sheppard call if something doesn't feel right?"

Yes. Another nod, more affirmative, and Keller seemed satisfied, standing again.

"Well okay, then," she looked to John, giving him the lead.

"Okay, Ronon. You okay with me staying with you for the night?"

His head shot up, surprised by the offer, before looking away in irritation. _Fine. Whatever._

"Look, I'm sorry. It's for my own peace of mind. I can't just order a security team to your door." _Not if I can't trust them._  
\---

Ronon steered the IV stand with one hand while carrying the water bottle with his other, following John out of the transporter and down a thankfully empty hallway, half-listening to him talk into his radio. Halting all gate travel and jumper access for some reason. When they reached his door, John held his hand up, before transferring the laptop from his other hand.

When he waved his hand over the door control, his sidearm moved with it.

Ronon didn't even know where his own gun was.

 _Dropped it, somewhere, maybe. Might still be back on Sanacra- need to go back-_

And it all threatened to come crashing down. His feet, bare on the cool floor. The line that pulled at the flesh of his hand when he moved wrong. The tightness in his throat. The attack, the clear fluid chilling the veins it ran through, filling spaces that should have held only his blood.

 _Because you're no good at hanging onto it yourself._

It was true. If it wasn't, Sheppard wouldn't be walking into his room, ahead of him, gun drawn, aiming at corners as he turned on the lights, looking for the enemies that Ronon couldn't fight off.

But Sheppard's face, when it turned back, was a little sheepish as he gestured Ronon to follow. Ronon found himself following his example anyway, scanning the room, relearning its angles, looking for something that shouldn't be there.

He didn't find that, but he did find seven knives and his gun, holstered, lying on the table next to his bed, the sight of them more welcoming than he'd expected.

"Yeah, ah. Figured Keller wouldn't let you have them in the infirmary," Sheppard said, scratching at his ear before turning to set the laptop down on the desk. Ronon let the door close behind him and sat heavily down upon his bed, trying not to cough and jerking the IV stand back as it threatened to topple again.

"Don't have to stay," he said, wishing his voice was stronger, not wanting to look over to find that Sheppard was wishing the same. _This is fucking humiliating. Shit_. "I can lock th' door."

He set the bottle down on the table, knowing that John was still watching as he slid his gun from the holster, hefting the familiar weight in his hands.

"Yeah, but would you open it again?"

 _What're you talking about?_

Reading more closely now, he could see severity of Sheppard's anger. It radiated from his shoulders, from the tightness at the corners of his eyes, the hard lines of his mouth as he began to talk. "Ronon, less than an _hour_ ago, someone. One of our _own_ people _attacked_ you. I'm _not_." Sheppard seemed to realize how loud his voice was getting, and rubbed a hand over his face. "You think I'm gonna be able to _sleep_ right now? I need to figure this shit out."

"Sorry." The word scraped over his throat and he loosened his grip on the IV stand. _If I'd been faster. Not so out of it. If I knew why_. Ronon held his breath for a minute, trying to calm down.

 _If I even knew where to start._

Something shifted, then, and Sheppard's shoulders eased, just a fraction of movement. Relenting. "Shit. Look. It's not your fault. Just. Be quiet, lie down, and try and get some rest, okay?"

Ronon stood, dragging the blankets down and repositioning the stand next to the bed.

"I'll still be here in the morning, and we'll talk then, if you're up for it. Okay?"

Ronon lay down, dragging the blanket over him. He would have rubbed his feet together to warm them if Sheppard hadn't been standing there, but decided against it. It was just another weakness that didn't need to be exposed.

A moment passed, and it was time to decide.

 _John's here. He's here to stand guard against his own people, because you're his friend. Let him._

He turned his head, away from Sheppard or maybe just the light, and closed his eyes.

"Lemme know if you need anything," Sheppard's voice was quiet now, and Ronon decided he probably wouldn't. He already had his gun in his hand. But he appreciated the offer.  
\---

John shut the lights off, took a deep breath, and began to play the infirmary footage.

Apart from the dim light coming from one of the monitors, the room was in total darkness. Two minutes and fourteen seconds in, light spilled in from outside the room as one person's shadow slowly entered. Unfortunately, the angle of the camera was such that there was no way to catch any useful features. A man, dressed in dark clothes, wearing a knit cap, was all Sheppard could identify. Another forty seconds or so, and the monitor was knocked over, almost immediately followed by the door opening as the assailant made his escape.

It was almost seven minutes of total darkness before the lights came on, and Ryerson wove through the door, his hand on his radio as he fell to his knees to find-

Ronon tried to pull himself back up onto the bed, his feet slipping from under him, probably not for the first time. Something was glistening on the floor, and there were stains on Ronon's shirt. Blood. He scrambled back against the wall when he realized that he wasn't alone, hands forming fists.

He was acting like he expected Ryerson to finish the job.

John looked up from the screen, casting a cautious glance over towards Ronon's bed. He doubted he was sleeping, but didn't want to wake him if, by some miracle, he was. Because if John had this much adrenaline in his system, this late at night, then Ronon, who hadn't only watched this on a screen…

 _Shit, he's sleeping with his gun, for cryin' out loud. Need any other clues to know how fucked that is?_

John forced himself to look back at the screen. _Yeah. I really fucking do_ , and pressed play again.

Keller walked into the room, sending Ryerson out as she moved slowly towards Ronon. Non-threatening but intent, crouching down next to him. Ronon wasn't looking at her, instead staring in the direction of the door. But he raised his hand up for her to inspect. When Keller leaned back, reaching to the side, John figured it out. The IV line had been ripped out. It was almost a relief.

But then the video ended. The last frame was Keller, leaning away, head turned towards the bed, while Ronon's hand reached out into empty space, the other covering his eyes.  
\---

Ronon woke with a start, the gun still in his hand. Trying to silence his breathing, he adjusted his grip carefully, using as little movement as possible. The sun was almost up, but hadn't quite risen. He tried to remember what the threat was, why he was awake so soon. Then he heard it again. Sounded like…snoring.

He turned his head first, then his shoulders, rolling onto his back to look across the room. Sheppard was still in the chair, head rocked back on his shoulders, throat bared.

As if on cue, the ache in his own throat made itself known again, and he reached over to grab the water from the table, almost toppling the IV stand in the process.

 _Really ought to put weighted bases on these damned things_ , he thought, catching it for the seventeenth time, glancing up to see that, yes, of course, Sheppard's eyes were blinking as he raised his head, trying to figure out where he was.

"Hey!" Sheppard's voice was strained as he stretched his arms back up over his head. "How're. Ah. You feeling any better?" Ronon smirked as Sheppard's arms dropped, one hand nearly striking him in the face, and apparently that was answer enough.

"Good. Ah. Alright. It's," he looked down at his watch. "Still really damned early. Another hour before you need to check in with Keller, but we should really track down Carter. Come on. You can watch her yell at me."  
\---

"You _should_ have woken me up," Carter glared at Sheppard once he finished telling her the story. "There are protocols-"

"I know that, but look. I had to be sure."

"Sure of what?"

"I wanted to review the footage before I told anyone. Needed to know who I can trust, and I know it sounds bad, but right then and right there, it made _sense_ , okay?"

Carter sighed, rolling her eyes, but she managed a sympathetic grin in Ronon's general direction, which was met with the same unrelenting stone-faced stare he had been wearing since leaving the infirmary.

"Okay. Fine. Anyway. Did the footage tell you anything?"

"Nothing useful. It was one guy, though I don't know if there were any others helping him out. I'm guessing he wasn't a scientist."

"You think he's on the security team?"

"I have no clue, hence…" Sheppard waved his hand.

"Right. Okay. You say you've seen the footage from inside the quarantine room?"

"Yes."

"Right. I want all infirmary and hallway footage pulled and examined, for starters. I want to see that, and the footage from quarantine, myself. I'll have Zelenka retrieve the security codes from the infirmary, see if he can figure out who's been in there."

"Zelenka?"

"Why not?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, and I know it's not, you know, the normal run of things. But I'd feel better if McKay handled it. It's just." Sheppard grimaced.

"Of course," Carter nodded. "Believe me, I understand. Okay. If McKay will do it."

"What do you mean, _if_?"

"It's just. You know how he can be when it comes to things he thinks are beneath him."

"Yeah. But this _is_ Ronon we're talking about here. McKay suited up to go out to Sanacra, where we all thought we'd catch the _plague_ , with no hesitation. He'll have no trouble with this."

"Okay. Good." Apparently the matter was settled. She turned to Ronon. "Now. In the meantime, we need to make sure you're. That something like this doesn't happen again. Until we've got this figured out, I don't want you going anywhere alone."

Ronon's eyes met Sheppard's for a moment, looking for backup, looking for an out, and finding none. It was the clearest reaction he'd shown to anything all morning, since one brief flash he'd let Sheppard see, back in his room. As soon as they'd stepped into the hallway, though, Ronon had shut down. He'd occasionally flex his fingers near his hip, looking for the gun he wouldn't be allowed to wear until he was officially discharged. Since standing his back against the wall in Carter's office, he'd been nodding yes or no, shrugging, but he hadn't spoken once.

Sheppard told himself it wasn't anything to worry about. That Ronon, for once, was following the doctor's orders.

Carter was still talking. "Now. As far as the investigation goes, I don't see how we're going to be able to keep this quiet, and we need to get on top of this immediately." Her hand flew to her ear, her radio coming on. "Carter here…Yes. I'll send them down now. Carter out."

Sheppard put his hands on the arms of his chair, getting ready to stand. "Keller's waiting?"

"Yes. And Ronon? I am truly sorry about what happened. It should never have happened. But we'll figure it out, and if there's anything I can do, just tell me."

Ronon nodded, but Sheppard was under no illusion that he would follow through.  
\---

The IV was removed, and Ronon left the infirmary with two bottles of medicine and a tired scowl on his face. He glanced up, but didn't slow his pace as Sheppard moved to follow.

Neither said anything as they stepped into the transporter, not even when Ronon touched the map, and they were walking out again, back towards his room. Ronon was stepping inside, checking the corners, when he realized that Sheppard had not followed him in.

"I can wait out here while you get changed and stuff."

Ronon would have preferred five minutes alone, in his room, without anyone looking over his shoulder. But the idea of Sheppard standing sentry outside his door was no less awkward. "Grabbing a shower so," he waved his hand, inviting him in.

He grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind himself and turning on the shower as warm as he could stand, because he was still so damned _cold_ , and because showers? Showers, he'd missed, waiting on Sanacra. He let the weight of  water soaking through his hair pull his head back, until the tightness in his throat was almost enough to make him cough.

Glancing down at himself, he supposed he looked more or less the way he always had since coming to Atlantis. Keller said he had lost a few pounds, but his skin wasn't stretching over starved ribs. The weird pink blotches were all but gone, and the weakness he was trying not to feel wasn't visible. Apart from the bandage on his hand that he probably wasn't supposed to get wet, he looked the same. Everything was normal.

It wasn't until he caught himself in the mirror while he was toweling off that the bruising on his neck reminded him how wrong he was.

 _But hell, it's not even gonna scar_. He caught himself sneering in the mirror. _Get over it._  
\---

Deciding that changing into familiar, if long-unused, clothing was one of the finest feelings he'd ever known, he opened the door to find Sheppard staring out his window. Tugging at his sleeve until it covered his gauntlets, he took a few steps into the room, and waited.

It wasn't until Sheppard turned, distant puzzlement shading his face, that Ronon knew what he was waiting for, but he didn't have the answers for any questions. Not yet.

"I need to grab a shower," Sheppard said, instead, "and we need to find out what the hell happened. Your throat feeling better?"

He knew he could have spoken, if he'd wanted to, but Ronon just quirked his mouth and dipped his head while he strapped his holster around his waist.  
\---

John watched the ocean outside and pretended to have a plan, even if he couldn't even pretend to be competent.

 _Not when my people are attacking their own._

Screw any excuses, John couldn't even imagine a _reason_ for what happened.

But a few things were apparent, even if they didn't make enough sense.

 _One. The assailant shot the doctors with stunners, but strangled Ronon. Tactically, it was risky, and left too much to chance. This wasn't their usual type of lunacy. It seemed personal._

Two. Ronon couldn't have done anything to anger anyone since his return, so whoever did this? Had been thinking about it for a while.

Three. They attacked him while he was sleeping, when he was too weak to fight back.

Four. There was at least one person in Atlantis who hated Ronon enough try and kill them with their bare hands. Enough to try again, maybe.

He heard the shower shut off, and a few minutes later, Ronon came back into the room, watching him warily, trying to hide the knives John knew he kept sheathed under his gauntlets.

"I need to grab a shower, and we need to find out what the hell happened. Your throat feeling better?"

Ronon pulled a face and gave a near-nod, wrapping his holster around his hips. Arming himself against any and all attackers. Something about the way he moved included John in those numbers.

He didn't know what he was going to say until he was already saying it.

"Ronon? Hang on a second. You know we're going to figure this out, right?"

Ronon's face became even less readable, but he sighed. "Yeah. Just wasn't sure you knew it."

"What do you mean?"

"McKay said Sanacra was the first place you were going to look, and you decided not to." It was clear that Ronon was only speaking because he'd run out of reasons not to put it off any longer. "Then someone tries to get rid of me when I get back, and…"

John was already shaking his head. "No. No, that's not it at _all_. First, I did _not_ sabotage the rescue mission. I made a call based on information we believed to be correct." _Which we would have had, if you hadn't ditched us. But now, we've got more important things to deal with_. "It wound up being a bad call, and for that I'm sorry. "

"Okay."

"Oh. Cool. And. For second, we're not trying to get rid of you." John missed the joke, but Ronon was smiling dryly. "What?"

"Not long ago, no-one was going to let me leave."

John's breath froze, his thoughts going in a hundred directions all at once, while the accusation hung in the air.

He found some words, and hoped for the best. "If you really wanted it, I would've helped you, but I would've missed you. Missed you a lot, as it turns out, and you weren't gone a month. Any rate, I'd rather you made that choice, not some psycho coward. Which is why we need to find the bastard that attacked you, and hang his ass out to dry."

Ronon uncoiled just a little, and regarded John with a speculative look on his face. Shaking his head, he snorted. "Missed you too."  
\---

There was motion, up ahead in the hallway, which quickly proved to be Teyla hurrying in their direction.

"Ronon!" she spoke, drawing near. "I've just heard. Are you alright?" Her hands came up to grasp at his biceps.

"M'fine," Ronon tilted his forehead down to meet hers, but then her arms slid under his arms and they were embracing, tightly. Ronon was smiling when they parted, though, and John wished he didn't know why it was so annoying, but he got it. Ronon trusted her, without question or reservation. Considering all the shit that had gone down, it was a stupid thing to resent.

"I am glad to hear it. Very much so," Teyla said. "I would like to offer any assistance I can provide in this matter." The arch in her brow made it clear that she was referring to the infliction of pain.

"Actually, there is," John cringed, leading them to the side of the hall as three scientists passed, pretending not to be eavesdropping. "But right now, I don't want either of you going around alone. I have to go start the interrogations," he turned to Ronon, "and you can't be there. Protocol, nothing personal. So, if you two wouldn't mind each other's company for a few hours?"

"Fine by me," Ronon nodded, disappointingly relieved at the prospect.

"With pleasure," Teyla bowed her head. "We have not had the time to talk in some time."

"Okay. I'll track you down as soon as I'm done with this, we'll all go grab dinner, alright?"

"That would be wonderful," Teyla said, and Ronon pulled his hands out of his pockets. John took the gesture as implicit agreement, and started again down the hall.

He'd barely gone around the corner when he heard the footsteps behind him, and turned to find Ronon slowing his paces, tucking his arms across his chest.

"What's up?"

One shoulder raised, but Ronon took a breath. "Just wanted to. You know. Tell you thanks. For looking into it. And. Everything."

"Don't worry about it," John said, trying not to feel embarrassed. "You can thank me when it's over, alright?"

"Right," Ronon tried a quick smile, there and gone again, and headed back to where Teyla stood waiting.  
\---

"McKay, what do you got?"

"Here's the list of everyone who's entered the quarantine room over the past two days," McKay handed him a printout. "It's interesting. The time stamps are in the left column, and I've highlighted the ones that fall around the time of the attack," McKay explained, an unhappily understanding set to his jaw. "I've also forwarded the list to Carter."

"All right, thanks," Sheppard took the list and backed out of the lab, resolving not to look at it until he was alone at his desk. He didn't want anyone to witness his reaction.

Hurrying to his office, he shut the door, sat down, and closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly exhausted. Eying the clock, he was amazed to find that he'd only been up for three hours. Eventually, though he couldn't put it off any longer, and he began reading down the list.

Three minutes of frozen dread later, he tapped his radio on.

"Lorne, this is Sheppard. I need you in my office _now_."

 **Chapter 8**

Amundson didn't seem surprised to find Sheppard in Lorne's office, but when Carter joined them, he sat up a little straighter, unfolding his tall frame from the chair.

"Rick, we've got some questions we need answered about the attack last night."

"I can get your legal rep in here at a moment's notice, but for now, this is just a fact-finding conversation," Lorne explained. "Do you understand?" His eyes darted towards Sheppard uneasily. It was the last expression Sheppard wanted to see on his second-in-command's face, but at the moment, it was the last thing he could concern himself with.

"Yes sir," Amundson said, with the air of having been through this kind of questioning before. "Ask away."

Sheppard went first. "Can you give us an account as to your whereabouts last night, between the hours of 0030 and 0200?"

"Seriously?" Amundson scowled, but stopped short of rolling his eyes. "Sir. I was off shift, in my quarters, asleep. Alone, to answer your next question."

"Okay," Carter began. "It has come to light that you might have some problems with certain members of this expedition. I am referring, here, to Teyla Emmagen and Ronon Dex."

Amundson shrugged. "I'm not going to pretend that we're friends, but I wasn't the one who attacked Ronon."

"Okay. You realize that you have given several people the impression that you would prefer that teams be comprised solely of Earth military members."

"In a strategic sense, yes sir, and I'm not the only one. But I do understand that you consider Ronon an asset in the field. I'm not going to risk my career just because I don't like him, and I'm not going to pick a fight with the guy, if only for self preservation."

"But he was attacked when he was already down for the count," Sheppard pointed out.

"How was I supposed to know that? As far as I knew, he could have been high on painkillers and feeling invincible. It would have been a stupid move to make."

"We're not making assumptions about stupidity, here," Sheppard said.

"Just _alliance_ ," Amundson muttered, leaning back in his chair.

"What was that, Lieutenant?"

This time, Amundson did roll his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir, but he's _your_ teammate, not mine. Far as I'm concerned, we share the same enemies, that's it, and he knows it as well as I do."

"Right," Shepard nodded. "Can you explain to us how your security code was used to gain entry to the quarantine room just before the attack last night?"

Amundson's irritation gave way to worry, and it was apparent that he hadn't anticipated the question. "No sir."

"Does anyone have access to your codes?" Carter clarified, glancing at Sheppard as she spoke. "Or do you have it written down somewhere that they could be found?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then you see our dilemma, here," Sheppard said, scribbling gibberish on the margin of Amundson's file, just to make him twist a little.

Lorne cleared his throat, either asking Sheppard for permission to speak, or warning him that his ruse had been seen. "Have you been feeling well lately, Lieutenant? Sleeping all right? Have you had any strange headaches or anything else of that nature?"

"Sir? Ah. Not really." By now, Amundson was becoming concerned, his tone becoming more wary. "Not since we got back from New Sanacra."

Sheppard flipped through the folder in front of him, and found Keller's documentation of his post-mission checkup. "Says here it was dehydration and low blood sugar."

"Yes sir. Doctor Keller told me it was nothing to worry about," Amundson shrugged. "I took some Tylenol and went to sleep. Been feeling fine ever since."

Sheppard looked to Carter and Lorne to see if they had anything else to ask. "All right, one last question. Have you seen or heard anything that would shed some light on this matter?"

With that, the irritation was back, but Amundson managed to keep his tone in check. "Why, you think whoever did it is going to run around _advertising_ it now that Ronon's back on his feet?"

"Just answer the question," Lorne said, his voice calm but full of warning.

" _Fine_. I haven't heard anything. But I'll come scampering back to rat and report if I do, all right?"

"All right. That's all for now. Dismissed."

Amundson vacated his seat, a surprisingly polite smile slapped over his usual scowl, and closed the door behind him as he left.

"He didn't leave his room last night," Carter confirmed, rubbing a hand over her face as she turned the laptop around. "The security feed from the hallway supports it."

"All right," said Lorne, sounding relieved. "What would you recommend?"

"I'd like to keep him grounded until this all blows over. We're going to resume normal access in the next 48 hours." Carter's eyes met Sheppard's, looking for agreement. "In the meantime, I would like you to keep an eye on him. It's unfortunate, but he's still our best lead."

"Right," Lorne agreed. "What's next?"

"Eat some lunch, take a break, then we keep asking around," Sheppard said, stretching his shoulders.

Lorne sighed. "Want to know where I was last night?"

"You were playing poker in Cadman's quarters until quite late, and, from your face on the cameras, you made out pretty well," Carter said, trying not to grin.

"Ah, I see." Lorne grimaced, trying to find the humor but failing. "If it helps any, I've been feeling fine, and think Ronon's a great guy."

"We know that," Sheppard said.

"I hope you realize why I had to be sure, we're going over a lot of footage. All the main corridors." Carter apologized. "I meant no offence."

"None taken, ma'am. So, who are you talking to next?"

"Don't know yet," Sheppard stood, sliding papers back into their files. "We don't have anything at the moment. Our best bet is someone who's been in contact with Amundson since the last time everyone changed their security codes, and that was a month ago."

"That could be a lot of people."

"I know. In the meantime, see if you can't work Amundson a little. He might know someone who knows something."

"You want me to play him?"

"No. Last thing we need is another team developing massive trust issues, so don't do anything you wouldn't do otherwise, all right? But you might want to let him know that the sooner this is cleared up, the sooner he's back out in the field."

"Yes sir. Thank you."

Once Lorne had left, Sheppard turned back to Carter, thinking. "There are cameras in the outer infirmary, right?"

"Yes, but they were hit with the stunners. We can't pull anything off of them, and they didn't catch anything useful before going out."

"Figures." He realized he was scowling. "Damn."

"What is it?"

"I'm just wishing that we didn't train our people in basic tactics, you know?"

"I agree. Having people know how to do their jobs independently _does_ tend to make them complete pains in the ass." Carter blanched. "I'm sorry. Apparently I woke up this morning and began channeling McKay."

"I won't tell anyone. Morale's bad enough as it _is_."  
\---

Teyla shook her head when Ronon began heading for the gym, and stepped in front of him, steering them both towards her rooms and opening the door. "I do not believe Doctor Keller would approve of your resumption of a strenuous workout just yet."

"Don't wanna med'tate," Ronon grumbled, coughing, sitting on the couch in the too-warm room, watching her make tea.

"I am sure you have had your fill of being still for the time being," Teyla smiled, once the water was boiling. "And though we have not spoken in quite some time, I find myself at a loss as to where to begin."

Ronon shrugged, eyes on his knees. "So. How've you been?"

"I have been well, though I must admit, it is a relief to have you returned. Things, since your disappearance, have been quite stressful." At Ronon's questioning glance, she continued. "For all of us. Doctor McKay has eyes only for his work, even more so than usual. John as well, and much of his good humor has been absent."

Teyla's eyebrow was arched in speculation when Ronon's face rose to meet hers, making him wonder what she saw there. Thankfully, she turned away again to pour the tea, bringing two cups over and handing one over. "And, I must admit, I was beginning to feel like I stood apart from the people here."

"Huh?"

"It was becoming quite apparent that, without your presence, I am the only native here, in a city full of aliens."

Ronon drank some of the tea down. It was too hot, but felt good on his raw throat. "Did somethin' happen?"

"Not as such, no. Nothing more than words. It seems several of the newer expedition members follow the opinions of the IOA regarding our presence and position, here in Atlantis and specifically on the team. I worry that it may given motive to your attacker." She sipped at her tea, not meeting Ronon's eyes. "It _is_ enough to cause one to reconsider one's decision to remain."

"Yeah." Ronon worked at his lower lip, finding the skin chapped. "Tell me about it."

"Have you made any decision as of yet?"

"No. Just got back. Need to find out what's what." I _don't even know if leaving's an option_ , he didn't say. "Then I'll decide. What about you?"

"I, too, will wait and see, but I believe the situation can be salvaged."

"Why?"

"We have many friends here," Teyla chided gently, as if to remind him. "I would worry even _more_ about them in my absence."

"Yeah. Me too," Ronon said, leaning back into the sofa, but he was thinking only of Sheppard, of the look on his face when he came into the infirmary the night before. Like he'd had something ripped away that he'd assumed permanent. "Think Sheppard will find anything?"

"I think he will try everything in his power, Ronon."

"But it's his own people."

"So are you."

Ronon was growing tired of Teyla's cautious optimism. "But we're not even from the same… For all I know, whoever did it was born in the same _town_ as him. I. We can't compete with that."

"Well," Teyla placed her cup on the table. "You have seen for yourself that birthplace alone is no guarantee of allegiance."

"Could end the same, though." Ronon leaned back against the couch to stare at the ceiling. "Me killing someone."

Teyla's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, before furrowing in concern. "Do you consider it a likely outcome?"

"If they try again? Might be." _Especially if I'm gonna be stuck here. Might not have the choice._

"In which case, you would be justified in defending yourself."

"Don't think they'll see it that way," Ronon said, sitting up with a humorless grin to drain the last of his tea.

"Ronon," Teyla began, choosing her words deliberately. "Right now, as we sit here, John is looking for the person who did this to you. Not because he has to, but because he cares about you. I am sure he understands all that it entails. Everything else may take some time, but for now, you need only ask yourself one thing. Do you trust him?"

"Yeah. Think so." _He came for me, eventually. He guarded over my sleep_. "Just don't know if he trusts me."  
\----

Sheppard was balancing a very overloaded mess tray when the door opened, explaining, "I'm not sure eating out is the way to go right now, for either of you, so for now, we're doing takeout." He placed the tray down on the edge of the table. "Rodney's on his-" he was cut off as McKay hurried in behind him, pulling bottles of water out of his pack.

"So," McKay began, dragging the desk chair over to the table, "What did I miss? Oh, Ronon. Good to see you're up and about, and. You know. Not _dead_."

It was awkward, but familiar, and Ronon nodded his head. "Thanks."

"How is the investigation proceeding?" Teyla asked, eyes darting from McKay to Sheppard as she reached for an apple.

"Slowly," McKay admitted, after a moment. "All stunners are accounted for, and there was so much in-and-out over the past few days that finding the point at which one could have been borrowed is hard to pin down. I hate to say it, but it would be easier if it was a gun. At least then, we'd be able to figure which one is missing bullets, or-"

"I know, _Rodney_." Sheppard grumbled. "It would also be nice if we had an entire CSI unit to go with it. You've _said_."

"CSI unit?" Teyla turned questioning eyes towards Ronon, to see if he was equally confused.

"Crime scene investigators. They're trained to find evidence in cases like this. I _do_ wish we had actual detectives on the case, though because me? I've got nothing. One suspect, but so far, we're not getting anything out of him."

"Who was it?" Ronon asked.

Sheppard pulled a face, considering. "Amundson, but you're really not supposed to know that, so keep it quiet. At any rate, he checked out, so I don't know how much it matters."

Ronon picked at his sandwich, trying to think, trying to remember the feel of the hands around his throat, the force it took to knock the assailant away. "Not sure it was him," he winced as he swallowed and reached for his water. "Think the guy was shorter, maybe?"

"Really?" Sheppard cocked his head to the side, considering. "Cool. That actually helps."

McKay rolled his eyes. " _Yes_. It only puts those of us who are less than seven feet _tall_ under suspicion."

"It's more than we knew a few minutes ago," Sheppard argued.

"Ronon was lying _down_ when-"

Teyla seemed as annoyed at the bickering as Ronon, and interrupted, asking, "Can we not speak of other things for the next while?"

"Sure." Ronon nodded eagerly, swallowing the last of his sandwich. "So. How're things at the village?"

As Teyla began to recount a story about the most recent hunt, Ronon sat back, looking around at the others. McKay was shoveling food into his mouth, Sheppard was laughing at all the right places, and for the moment, at least, things were starting to edge towards normality.

There are always worse places to be stuck.  
\---

"Wanna get out of here?" Sheppard offered, once they were done eating. "Grab your radio. I've got an hour or so to kill. Figure we can head out to the southwest pier or something."

"Sounds good," Ronon agreed, hand brushing against his holster, just to make sure it was still there.

Sheppard fell into step at Ronon's five as they headed towards the doors. If he was letting Ronon take the lead, or watching his back, he never said, and Ronon didn't ask.

There was a cool breeze coming off the water, but the sun beat down brightly, cutting the chill as they walked. Ronon hadn't realized how much he missed it, even if walking did seem to take more exertion than he remembered. "Seems longer when we're not running," he said, hoping he didn't sound too winded.

"A lot of things are like that," Sheppard said, slowly. "Like when you were gone. Was only a few weeks, but it felt like longer."

"Especially when I didn't know you guys were gonna come."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't easy to find you. You should have told us something was up."

"Didn't know you were there to _tell_. Besides, the angry townspeople weren't message enough?"

"Not exactly clear, no. How were we to know? Matter of fact, we _still_ don't, because you still haven't told us what went down. Besides, not all that long ago, you _were_ wanting to leave, you know."

"I never wanted to _stay_ away," Ronon sighed, not wanting to make things worse, and not having any other choice. "That was all you."

"It." Sheppard stopped himself with an annoyed shake of his head. "Look. We _tried_. There were no signs of you anywhere."

"So you thought I deserted you?"

"Well, we _did_ wonder, actually. Didn't stop us from looking, though."

"Why?" _Why would you bother?_

Sheppard gave him a searching look and the edge of a smirk. "Because if you _had_ decided to go solo, I would've had to try talking you out of it."

"What if you couldn't?"

"What do you mean?" The grin slid off Sheppard's face so quickly that it might not have been there at all.

"If you _couldn't_ talk me out of it, would you let me leave?"

"I'd be pissed off. Worried. But yeah, I'd let you go. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I might tell our enemies everything I know about Atlantis?"

Sheppard snorted and resumed his pace. "If I thought you'd do that, you never would have learned anything about Atlantis in the _first_ place."

Ronon was distracted by the calm certainty in Sheppard's voice, knowing he wouldn't let his reaction show if John had been looking. They continued onward, though, until the rest of the inevitable conversation became too heavy to ignore.

"You _know_ Carter wasn't going to let me go," Ronon said, snorting. "Which at least balances out the people who _don't_ want me here, but. Look." Ronon stopped walking, wanting to be sure he had Sheppard's attention before continuing. "I need to know. Am I only staying here because it's too dangerous for you to let me leave?"

"You're staying here because you _want_ to, and because we want you here. I want you on my _team_." Confusion flitted across Sheppard's face, like he worried he'd come up short, and was trying to think up something that sounded better.

"Is it really that simple?" Ronon frowned, because he was still missing something, and he'd run out of other questions to ask.

"Hi," Sheppard smirked and stuck out his hand, fingers splayed. "Name's John. I'm a simple guy." Ronon shook the offered hand, trying not to laugh, because somehow, that answered everything, at least enough for now.

John again opened his mouth to speak, but then the bullet sliced into him, the sound of a gunshot replacing whatever he'd meant to say.

 **Chapter 9**

" _Go_ ," Ronon shoved John towards the nearest building as a second shot rang out.

Ducking around the wall, they slid to a stop John eased to his knees. "My arm," he started, wincing as he tried twisting to see the damage. "Shit. Lost my radio."

"Hang on," Ronon said, crouching next to him, already sliding the knife out of his belt. He sliced at back of John's shirt collar, tearing the damp black fabric aside to get a better look.

A gash ran down across his left shoulder and into his tricep, ending in a puncture wound that pulsed more blood every time John moved his arm. Ronon swung around, pulling the material down over John's hands, before folding it roughly and pressing it to the wound. Under his fingers, John's arm was slick with blood.

"Sheppard?"

"M'fine," he answered. "Starting to hurt like a bitch, but my head's clear. How's it look?"

"Don't move your arm," Ronon growled, tapping his radio on. "Security team, this is Ronon. Shots fired on the southwest pier, Sheppard took a hit and we're pinned down," he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "Both shots came from above, from the northeast."

"Ronon, this is Lorne. We're on our way. Report Sheppard's status?"

"Bleeding, but awake. Grazed his shoulder and arm. Pretty sure it didn't reach the artery, but I think the round's still in there."

"Find cover and _stay_ there, we're hitting the transporters now. We'll be out there as soon as we can."  
\---

Ronon let himself exhale, finally, and tried not to cough. He tilted his head until he could see John's face, needing  to make sure he was still lucid. That he hadn't missed anything. Some small detail that could grow massive enough to kill.

" _So_ ," John grimaced, trying to sound unworried as he looked away, out over the water. " _This_ sucks."

"They'll be here in a minute."

"Yeah. Thanks, by the way."

"Sure." Ronon shifted on his knees, trying to keep pressure on the wound.

John was looking out over the water, his face curiously distant,  like nothing strange was going on.  Like his blood wasn't starting to well up between Ronon's fingers.  "Think they were aiming at you or me?"

Ronon wasn't surprised by the question, but couldn't think about it right then. Not while John was bleeding. Not while the shooter was probably trying to find a clear trajectory.  "Hopefully, you. Otherwise, you've got a sniper out there with no idea what he's doing."

"That's. A fair concern, actually," John turned his head gingerly. "Aside from being shot in the _first_ place. We're gonna need to increase training on the firing range."

"Yeah, well." Ronon froze at the sound of a door opening across the pier, and felt his heart lurch in panic. He turned to find four men in full armor running towards them, med kit in tow.

John was already trying to rise to his feet, even before Ronon was.  
\---

Keller promised Ronon that she'd take care of John, but that didn't stop him from worrying.

About how a bullet can shift inside a body, work itself deeper to tear through muscle. About how a bone fragment was sharp enough to slice through an artery, even though they'd done their best to immobilize it. About what it meant to be betrayed. About the glare Amundson shot in his direction as they passed in the hall.

He was kicked out into the waiting area to find Teyla and McKay exiting the transporter. Both looked nervous and out of breath.

"We wanted to make sure you were unharmed," Teyla explained, her arm reaching up towards Ronon's, falling without contact.

"Yeah, sure. Because Sheppard being _shot_ at wasn't enough to get us out here, even if he pulled some stupid-"

"Wasn't his fault, McKay." Ronon leaned back against the wall and tracked two more marines as they passed by, eyes not straying from the path.

"Yeah. Well. _Still_ ," McKay stated, apparently ending, and winning, his own argument.

Teyla shook her head, scornfully. "How is he?"

"He was bleeding pretty bad," was all he could think to say. _Either he was caught out because of me, or one of his own turned on him. How the hell do you think he is?_  
\---

Other than barely answering Carter's questions, sometime in the first long hour, little more was said until Keller finally stepped out through the door. She was smiling wanly, and explained in too many words that John was fine, but wiped out on painkillers. He wouldn't be cleared for full duty for at least two weeks, if not three, but he could return to his quarters as soon as he found his feet.

"How're you doing?" Ronon asked, stepping towards the bed, McKay and Teyla bringing up the rear.

"Feeling no pain, man." John grinned. "I don't even mind lying here right now. Bunch of stitches, and they did all sorts of funky stuff to the bone, but I'm getting out of here with nothing more than a sling an' some bandages."

"Sounds good."

"Yes. _Considering_ ," McKay cut in, and Ronon found himself wishing that he'd stayed in the labs.

"I am glad you are all right," Teyla insisted, shooting a cross look in McKay's direction.

John scanned their faces for clues. "Any leads yet?"

"Carter and Lorne are working on it," Ronon said.

"There's a bullet this time. Keller wouldn't let me keep it."

McKay rolled his eyes as hand went up to his radio. "Yes, what is it?" He nodded a few times, before turning back. "They found the casings. Just have to try matching it to a missing gun. No missing gun, then we have to look at the striations. We don't have a forensics lab, but between the botanists and the structural engineers, we do have the first five seasons of CSI on DVD."

" _Seriously_?"

Ronon figured that John wasn't supposed to laugh at that, but said nothing, sharing a wary look with Teyla.

She raised an eyebrow at Ronon, but turned away. "Rodney, would it be an imposition for me join you in the lab? I must admit, I am most curious to see your plan in action."

"Want to watch the maestro at work, do you? Of _course_ ," he said, his mouth slashing up to one side, mostly joking. "Let's go. Sheppard. Ronon." He nodded vaguely and bent to retrieve his datapad, while Teyla rolled her eyes at his back, pointedly bowing towards John.

"If you need anything, please let me know. Rest and feel better, John."

"Thanks," he said, embarrassment reading clear on his face, and with that, they were left nearly alone. The presence of guards standing outside the infirmary door was felt, more than seen, in the forced calm expressed by the medical staff.

"So," John brushed imaginary lint off the BDUs he still wore, apparently unsure if he wanted Ronon's presence there or not.

"So." Ronon echoed. He didn't know what to say either. _I'm sorry I got you hurt. I'm sorry you're not able to look your men in the eye right now. I'm sorry I'm all that you've got left right now._

The silence hung for a few moments, before John rolled his head back against the pillow, peering down his nose at Ronon. "This is awkward, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed, resisting the urge to stand up taller under his observation. "You need anything?"

John's eyes dipped down Ronon's arm. "If you wouldn't mind putting the knife down, I'd be much obliged."

Ronon looked down to catch the flash of the blade as it spun in his hand again. He hadn't even realized he was doing it. John's blood had dried on the edge, probably some time ago. "Sorry," he said, deliberately not wiping it clean as he slid it into the sheath on his belt.

John just nodded, and Ronon wished he knew what to do with himself. He pulled a chair up from against the wall, seating himself on the edge, arms resting on his knees as he leaned towards the bed. He spoke quietly. "Look. This is fucked up. If they were shooting at you-"

"I'm starting to suspect we've got a slight morale issue on our hands," John said, all bravado and sarcasm. "But they're on it. Don't worry about it right now."

"If my staying here means putting you at risk, Carter will have no problem letting me leave." _You're too damned important. The city needs you, more than it needs me._

Sheppard slid a glance at the foot of the bed, the humor dropping from his tone. "Running out on me _already_? Thought we were over that."

"I mean," Ronon sighed. _I can't ask you to risk yourself over this._

John just watched him for a minute, strategizing, before trying a grin. "Okay. We've been over this. You're not a prisoner here. But I'd rather you stayed and helped us figure this out, all right? 'Sides. Still don't know that they weren't aiming at me." The smile didn't leave his face, but it didn't reach his eyes, either.

"It's still a risk." Once you're gone, I doubt I'll be staying here anyway.

"If you weren't there back there, I'd be screwed. Stuck without my radio and pinned down, bleeding with no bandages. Besides. There are a hundred reasons someone would want to shoot me. Lorne threatens to all the time. We don't know that it has anything to do with what happened to you."

"You seriously believe that?"

John sat himself up, gingerly, using his good arm as leverage. "Very recently, I seriously believed I was floating three inches above my body, so who could say?"

" _Sheppard_."

" _Ronon_." John sighed, easing his feet over the side of the edge. "Seriously. This isn't your fault. Let's get out of here. You're totally harshing my mellow."

"I have no idea what that means."

"It means you need to cheer up. I'm fine."

 _But you're not as immortal as you think you are_ , Ronon thought, but he rose anyway, ready to help him stand.  
\---

Upright, with a destination in mind, John seemed to sober up very quickly, nodding his way impatiently through Keller's post care instructions.

"I can have security escort you," she finally offered, her lecture finally drawing to a close.

"I've already got Ronon," John said, his tone sharp and final, before relenting. "Though, for a while there, I 'm pretty sure _I_ was supposed to be babysitting  _him_ , but it all evens out in the end, right? Anyway, we need to check in with Carter."

"All right, then, Colonel, you're free to go," she said, her head jerking back in the direction of the door as raised voices were heard.

"It's _Roth_ , he collapsed in the mess hall," Ryerson called. "At least one broken rib- his lung-"

"Get him up on the table," Keller instructed, thrusting her datapad into Ronon's hands before hurrying over, leaving him to find somewhere to set it so it wouldn't be lost or damaged.

John stepped forward, watching as the Lieutenant was brought in on a stretcher, his shirt already opened to reveal severe bruising as they moved back around the curtain.

"What the _hell_?" Sheppard turned his neck carefully, catching Ronon in a sideways glance. "You seeing this?"

"Another attack?" Ronon caught up and eyed the curtain speculatively as they passed. Stepping out into the hallway, ignoring the guards watching them, he turned back to John. "How's he look?"

"Bruised to hell and back. Like he went nine rounds with you and lost." John passed by him, rolling his neck against the edge of the sling's strap.

"Huh." Ronon's gaze didn't waver from the transporter at the end of the hallway. "Wait-"

" _Yeah_ ," Sheppard said, realization already dawning on his face. " _Shit_. You think?"

"I'm pretty sure I got a few hits in. Wasn't nine rounds, but."

"You still got your radio?"

"Yeah."

"We get to my quarters, and call Carter. Closed channel."  
\---

It was almost an hour before Carter came to John's room, speaking even before the door was closed behind her. "Okay. Keller won't let anyone in to see him until morning at the earliest. Lorne found the rifle in his room, two rounds light. It's a good lead. That in mind, I need to know." She regarded Ronon seriously. "How confident are you that Roth is the one that attacked you?"

"I'm not sure," Ronon shrugged, annoyed, and pressed against the bruises on his neck until his throat itched.

"If it happened last night," John asked, "why did it take so long to show up?"

"According to Doctor Keller, he had two fractured ribs. From what I understand, he was reaching for a tray in the mess hall when he moved wrong, causing one of them to break completely. Right now, I don't know anything more than that, but I will once Jennifer finishes her assessment."

"You think he could have been running around sniping at us in that condition?"

Catrer pursed her lips. "If he made good use of the transporters, then I don't see why not."

"Okay, then the only thing that _doesn't_ make sense is why he snapped. Lorne says Roth's the model teammate, and he's on track to make Captain in, what, six months? Never had any problems with him before."

"That would seem to be the question. I'll know more in the morning." She nodded, rubbing her hands together. "Right now, I have Lorne waiting in my office, I need to fill him in. I've also got a security team on Teyla and Rodney. John, in case Keller's instructions were not enough for you, I'm ordering that the both of you remain in your quarters until tomorrow morning."

Ronon scowled. "Why?"

"Aside from safety, to avoid the appearance of impropriety," Carter smiled apologetically at his confused look. "There are a lot of questions that could be asked, and a lot of it depends on making sure our answers are not influenced by some offhand comment, or even your presence in the room. Does that make sense?"

"Guess so," Ronon said, noncommittally.

"I'm posting security outside your quarters as well," Carter said, but John shook his head.

"Nah. He can stay here." His expression seemed deliberately unreadable, but he continued, looking towards the door. "It'll free up resources and keep me from worrying."  
\---

"Would you stop pacing, you're driving me _nuts_ ," John grumbled, finally setting aside his magazine.

"Sorry," Ronon cleared aside the trays Teyla had brought earlier, and sat on the table, deciding that it couldn't be put off any longer. "So what do you think happened with Roth?"

"Been trying to work that out. Don't have a clue. You?"

"No. I. Me and him never had any problems, far as I know." Ronon shrugged. "But I could be wrong. Can't always read you people."

"Right. Well," John struggled to sit up straight. "Here's what we've got. The gun was in his locker. Unless he says otherwise, it looks like his ribs were busted last night. It would have been easy for him to grab Amundson's access codes."

"He's a good shot, though. Usually matches me target for target," Ronon didn't want to finish the thought to its logical conclusion. _He should have been able to kill you._

"Right. And he missed. Could have been the injury, throwing off his aim. It's not the bullets you dodge that you need to worry about. Anyway.  We're Not going to know anything more until Carter talks to Roth."

"You're not going to?"

"No. Same reason you weren't in the room with Amundson when we were grilling him."

"You think they were working together?"

"Could be. They're pretty tight. Though, generally, Amundson," John yawned. "You know."

"He's an asshole."

"Right. And Roth gets along with everyone."

"You think Amundson put him up to it?"

"I have no idea." His eyes were dark, shaded, and Ronon wondered what he was supposed to say in a situation like this.

John tried and failed to choke back another yawn, wincing as his arm moved. "All right. I gotta crash out."

"Yeah," Ronon agreed, and eyed the cot set up a few feet from John's bed. "Not a bad idea." He stood up and removed the bottle of pills from his pocket, shaking one out and swallowing it dry. "Need help with anything?"

"I'm good," John mumbled, easing back down and closing his eyes. "There's extra blankets in the closet if those aren't enough."

Ronon fidgeted with the fifth knife he pulled out of his hair before setting it on the dresser, glancing up in the mirror to check on John as he pulled off his boots. He removed his holster, slid the gun under his pillow, and lay down to stare at the ceiling until his eyes began to close. It took a long while.  
\---

 _The door opened slowly, one figure moving silently through the room, there and gone again, leaving John's throat slit while Ronon slept on, oblivious._

Ronon had known he was dreaming, even before he woke, but he made himself sit up to search out the light coming through the window, the readout of the clock. Placing his bare feet on the floor, he rose and crossed the space to John's bed.

John slept on his right side with his good arm cast above his head, fingers curling slightly towards his palm. A bandage wrapped around his left arm and crept up over his shoulder to disappear beneath his sleeveless shirt. One corner of the tape, down near his elbow, was coming loose.

Ronon pressed it carefully back to John's skin, mindful of the stitches. John sighed, shifting, muscles sliding under his skin, but he did not wake, and Ronon stepped back, sitting down to consider him from the cot.

Either the painkillers, or his resolve to hide his concern, had faded. It was visible in the line between John's  brows, nearly hidden behind his arm, and the tightness at the corner of his mouth.

It seemed natural to want to reach out, erase the tension with his fingertips, another old instinct reasserting itself, maybe. Or maybe just the drugs Keller had given him. So Ronon did nothing. Bandages were one thing, but Ronon had no idea how to fix this.

He lay down again, on his side, and kept watch until his eyes lost their focus on John's face.  
\---

The throbbing in his arm woke John two hours before he was ready to open his eyes. It wasn't until he managed to swallow down another painkiller that he realized that he hadn't noticed Ronon sleeping five feet away.

He figured he was tired enough that his brain didn't identify Ronon as something that wouldn't normally be there. He'd just seemed like a natural part of the scenery. Like he belonged there, dead to the world in John's room, sprawled on his stomach with his hair falling over his face.

John was too tired to process _that_ , either, so he lay back down to wait for the drugs to kick in, and tried to recall if he'd ever seen Ronon sleep unaided by medicine. He couldn't remember, though, and drifted off, thinking it was a shame.

 **Chapter 10**

"Roth is heading back to Earth, under the attorney's advisement," Carter said, trying to hide her frustration. "He will remain in holding at the SGC until we get this sorted. However, we do have the evidence that he is the one that shot at you."

"What about attacking Ronon?"

"At this point, we have no actual proof, but the JAG suspects it's related. He'll want your statements, of course. I'd like you both to talk to him at your earliest convenience, but in the case," Carter cast an apologetic look in Ronon's direction. "We don't know if it's going to be enough."

Ronon got to his feet and stalked out onto the balcony, and Sheppard watched Carter watching him leave, the frustration plain on her face. .

"How's he doing?" Carter asked, grimly, once the door slid shut behind him.

"I don't even know how _I'm_ doing, so," John smirked.

"Right. Well. I think, for the time being, that the situation is in hand, and, more importantly, that the threat is gone. You might want to tell him that."  
\---

Ronon stopped pacing when he heard the door open behind him, but he didn't turn to face John. "So that's it?"

"For the time being, it looks that way. The justice system at work."

"Great." Ronon didn't bother to hide his irritation. _Don't know why you're satisfied with this._ "We're just going to sit here and wait for someone else to figure out why he turned on us?" Ronon shook his head. _We're going to trust someone else with this, instead?_

"Look. I've been thinking about that. About all of this. We need to retrace our steps back to when this all started."

"The infirmary?" Ronon scowled. "They couldn't find anything."

"New Sanacra is when it all started going to hell. You still haven't told me what happened, by the way."

Ronon leaned against the railing, watching the water hitting the side of the pier below. "There's nothing to tell," he sighed, and continued, anyway. "I ran into you, I walked around for a while. Started getting tired, so I was heading in. Heard noise, found Sahlen bleeding. He shoved a knife into my hand like he thought I'd need it, and pointed me towards the gate, telling me that the Councilor was dead and that you'd retreated." _And then I was alone. How the hell is that going to help anything?_

"But we hadn't, and you wound up on Sanacra," John finished with a grin. "Seems pretty deliberate."

"Yeah. It's great news," Ronon rolled his eyes. "How does that explain anything?"

"Won't know until I get there," John decided, his hand already reaching up to his radio.

"I'm coming with you."

John dropped his hand. "Ronon, if they think you-"

"I don't give a damn. You're not going without me."

"Fine," John sighed, resigned. "As long as Keller allows it."  
\---

Keller, of course, decided in Ronon's favor, just as John had dreaded. The mission was set for the next morning.  
\---

It hadn't occurred to him that they probably didn't need to sleep in the same room anymore. But it hadn't occurred to anyone else to inform them, either. If Ronon was awake or asleep, John couldn't tell, and he couldn't think of a reason to ask. Couldn't think of a reason to give this up. Whatever this was, he'd let himself get away with it.

Scratch that. He could- he'd had the list memorized for years now. But he wouldn't.

 _I thought you wanted to leave us. Then, I thought you had. Then you came back, and I thought we were going to lose you. But you're here, now, I haven't stopped thinking yet, and I'm pretty damned sure I know why._

It was well past midnight, and though John's eyes were closed, he wasn't sleeping. Just listening to Ronon, in the next bed.  
\---

 _"If you wish to hold onto your life, you must first hold onto your weapons," Ronon's father chided, disarming him again and pinning him loosely to the ground. "Try again."_

Ronon glared at the training knife, stuck mutely into the grass a few hand-spans away. Taking a breath, he reached out for it, wondering how many more times he'd have his face ground into the dirt before he figured it out. He pushed himself up and back, already turning to attempt another attack.

Ronon lay on his cot, trying to resist the urge to roll over to see the clock on the bedside table, to see if John was asleep. In case he wasn't.

If he'd been feeling less selfish, earlier, he would have continued on down the hallway and returned to his own room, instead of following John into his. Instead of shrugging more carelessly than honestly when John turned off his computer, asking if he was ready to crash.

Because he had been, at the time. Just not enough, apparently. He should have been able to sleep. It was quiet and it was warm. Three knives, his gun, and his closest ally were all safely within arm's reach.

But, given the choice, he would have reached for John first, and if he could admit that much to himself, he could probably admit to a hell of a lot more.  
\---

It was market day when they stepped through New Sanacra's gate and into the square, judging by the sheer number of people staring back at them when they arrived.

"Hi folks," Sheppard called out, waving his uninjured arm as two jumpers came through behind them and rose to cover their position. "We need to talk to Healer Sahlen. You might want to get one of the Councilors out here as well."

Voices began to stumble over each other as the noise grew to a din, but after a few moments, the crowd parted to let a woman in Councilor's robes stalk through. She trailed four armed guards in her wake, and Sheppard could see several more taking positions around the edge of the crowd.

He glanced over to make sure McKay hadn't started waving his P90 around yet, and found him watching Ronon, who was watching the guards with his hand near his hip. Teyla also seemed to be taking her cues from him, but she cast her eyes out over the mass of people.

Turning back to the crowd, he saw Sahlen being ushered forth by two more guards. He had the look of a man who knew his fate and just wanted it over with, but it was too soon to tell if it was something Sheppard could use.

Sahlen stopped short, though, when he saw Ronon standing with Sheppard's team.

The Councilor stopped before them, a well-used frown on her face, and stared briefly at Sheppard's sling for a moment before speaking. "I am Lysta. We have not met, but I _do_ know who you are. What is the meaning of this?"

Teyla raised her palms, her voice calm. "That is what we are attempting to discover. New information has come to our attention that we believe you should hear. Is there somewhere we can go to discuss the matter in private?"

Lysta shook her head, indicating the crowd with a wave of her hand. "Whatever you have to say, you can say to all of us."

"So be it," Teyla bowed her head, looking sideways at Sheppard, ceding the spotlight.

"All right, look. Councilor Sidum _was_ murdered, right?"

"That is correct. Have you returned to face the charges?"

"We were accused falsely, and I believe that Sahlen, here, knows why."

"What cause have you to make such an accusation?" The Councilor said, her eyes darting sharply in Sahlen's direction.

"He told me my people had retreated and sent me after them, but I wound up on Old Sanacra instead," Ronon growled, his glare never leaving Sahlen's terrified face.

The crowd's reaction was immediate and loud.

"That only proves that he aided your escape," the Councilor almost hissed, waving her arm sharply to silence the crowd. "We will hear more of this matter, but it _hardly_ clears your innocence."

"It's enough for me," Sheppard said, refusing to buckle under her glare. "So, in the interest of any continued diplomatic relations between our people, I would like to hear his reasoning about it right now, if you don't mind."

"It's all right," Sahlen sighed, stepping forward, palms raised in surrender. "It is, truth be told, a relief."

"Then you _do_ know who was responsible?"

"I do, Councilor Lysta. And while he is of their people, he is not among them now," he said, glancing warily up at the jumpers. "Not that I can see."

"Why did you say nothing?"

"Cowardice, Councilor. Cowardice. I was terrified of admitting my part in such a gruesome act."

"Did Councilor Sidum die at your hands?"

"No, Councilor. He did not. I believe that their man, Roth, was his murderer."

"Why do you say that?" McKay had the sense to look abashed at his interruption.

"He promised that he would have Sidum removed from power, in exchange for Ronon Dex's life. I did not, however, fully understand what he meant at the time. "

"Tell us what happened," Lysta crossed her arms, her chin jutting out at a furious angle, and Sheppard wondered if the only thing preventing her from ordering an immediate execution was the presence of guests. "Leave nothing out."

"On the day of Councilor Sidum's death," Sahlen began, addressing John,  "not long before you arrived, Roth approached me with the offer. Caught up in the moment, I agreed, but as the sun set on the day, I realized I could not stomach the idea."

"It is good to hear that you were reluctant to turn on your own people," Lysta spoke primly, the sarcasm in her voice plain.

Sahlen snorted. "It would be, if Sidum _was_ truly of our people, but he betrayed us all, long ago."

"Your opinions of the action have _long_ since been a matter of public record, Healer. For now, I would like to hear that which I do not already know."

"Of course, Councilor," Sahlen stared down at the ground as he put his thoughts in order. "I went to Councilor Sidum's house, prepared to warn him of the offer made to me, and I found him. He had been stabbed. I tried to revive him, yet I could not. His body was already without life." Sahlen held a hand to his forehead, trying to block out the stares of the crowd. "I panicked, Councilor, when I realized the full meaning of Roth's word, and I ran. I never meant-" Sahlen sighed, his throat working to swallow.

Finding composure enough to continue, he raised his head to face the Councilor once again. "Through the window, I saw Ronon Dex walking nearby, and in that instant, knew the choice was out of my hands. Roth's plan had already been set into action. I hurried to the ring and opened the portal, and then raised the alarm."

Sheppard took an abortive step forward. "Why did you help him escape?"

"I could not kill him, but nor could I allow him to be found, as I was, at the time, sure that it would prove my involvement. I opened the ring to our old world and sent him through, knowing that he would be lost, but alive."

"You know that is a death sentence."

"According _only_ to Councilor Sidum. You know that we have _no_ proof of his claims, and Ronon Dex's presence here today only proves the contrary."

"I do not understand," Teyla said, glancing apologetically towards the Councilor, waiting for her permission before continuing. "Why would you agree to such an arrangement?"

"He wanted revenge," Ronon said, the understanding in his voice less surprising than Sheppard would have expected.

Sheppard tore his eyes away with a shake of the head, over the staring crowd and back to Lysta. "Well, you'll be happy to know that the disease _is_ gone, and that their population is growing."

The Councilor's eyes were untrusting, speculative. "You can provide evidence of this?"

"Not as of yet," Sheppard admitted.

McKay cut in with a smug tone. "Not until we fix their gate."

The change in the Councilor's demeanor was instant as hope replaced anger. "You would be willing to undertake such a thing?"

"That depends," Sheppard stepped forward before McKay could answer. "I'm willing to forgive being arrested and nearly executed without a trial. We'll just call it a diplomatic hiccup. However." He turned to Sahlen. "I am still concerned with the fact that you sent Ronon here to a planet that might kill him."

Sahlen snorted in frustration and repeated himself. "I did _not_ think it would do him any _harm_."

"Good enough for me," Ronon said, cutting McKay and Sheppard off before they could complain. Teyla bowed to hide her smile at McKay's irate expression.

Sheppard snorted. " _Fine_. But we want to know everything that Lieutenant Roth told you. Right now."

"As you must be aware, Roth and his teammates were regular visitors to our world. Of the four, Roth was the most approachable."

"What do you mean?"

"The one, Doctor Parrish, was very excitable and hard to understand at times. Your Major Lorne was very polite, but also quite distant. The other one, Amundson. I'm sorry to say, but he remained quite, ah..."

"Rude?"

"Yes. Roth was the one who became most known to us, and we became friends as a result. I told him of my frustrations, and he told me of his."

"Which were?"

"I am sure you would not like them repeated in such a public arena," Sahlen said, looking nervously between Sheppard's face and the jumpers hovering overhead.

"Let's not worry about that right now." Sheppard shook his head. _Pretty sure my reputation isn't the one you ought to be worrying about right now, Bucko._

"We promise no offense will be taken," Teyla explained, urgently. "But it is information of vital importance."

"He said that the way things were run on your world were horrible. That someone who took suicidal risks was responsible for the lives of others, and that your leaders trusted untrustworthy people. He very much desired the opportunity to repair the situation, but his placement in your ranks forbade it."

Sahlen paused, again rubbing at his neck. "Roth made it clear that there were two individuals that, once removed, would create space for worthier persons to step in." Sahlen glanced pointedly in Ronon and Teyla's direction, but did not meet their eyes.

McKay sighed.  "So how do you go from that to murder?"

"You would have to ask him, as I could not find it in myself to go that far."  
\---

Ronon squinted against the bright light of the hallway when he found John on the other side of his door. He felt himself smirking, suddenly very relieved to see John standing there. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

"I'm. Ah." John rubbed a hand through his hair. "Guess I just got too used to being on overdrive. My brain hasn't figured out how to stop."

Ronon nodded tiredly. "I know the feeling." _There's too much space in here. You're supposed to take up some of it._

"Thought you might. I figure there's only one answer for it." John hefted the six-pack he was carrying. "Beer on the pier?"

Ronon ducked back and grabbed a heavier shirt. "Good idea."  
\---

Two beers later, and Ronon was wishing that John would just _speak_ , already, but he couldn't find anything to say, either. Nothing that would take John's mind off Roth, Sahlen or any of the answers they'd found. Nothing that would get them past this.

 _No use avoiding it._  He sighed, crushing the beer can and setting it aside. "He was wrong, you know. Roth."

John turned slightly to look at him with eyes that would have been tired, were they not so tense. "What about him?"

"He said you weren't a good leader," Ronon busied himself opening another beer, annoyed at how stiffly the words had come out.

John's shrug was too weak to be agreement. "Who knows. I didn't see this coming."

" _No_ one did. I didn't," Ronon sipped his beer, training his eyes on a far point on the water. "And hell, you heard Lorne when he got out of the jumper. He was _freaked_. Worked with the guy every day, and never suspected anything, either."

"Right. It's just. What if someone else decides to pick up where he let off? I don't know where to go from here."

Ronon said nothing for a while. "When I was on Sateda, my taskmaster. The leader of my branch betrayed us. Far worse than what Sidum did. Sent hundreds to their death to save himself." Ronon shrugged. "That's not you. We all know that."

"Just because I don't _intend_ to kill you all doesn't mean I know what I'm doing," John snorted, but at least the life was returning to his voice.

"Shut up," Ronon smirked. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," John laughed, despite himself. "Thanks. Hand me another beer, would ya?"  
\---

Once the beer was gone, and John was yawning, Ronon couldn't think of an excuse to prolong the inevitable. "Should probably head in," he admitted, pretending not to dread the emptiness of his room.

"Yeah," John said, at length. "It's late." He remained still for a few moments more, a strange look on his face, before eventually deciding to stand. His eyes met Ronon's briefly as they gathered up the empty cans.

Nothing was said as they walked. It was too late, and everything else could wait until tomorrow, but Ronon found himself slowing his pace as they made their way back towards the entrance.

"What is it?" John quirked his brow and tensed his jaw, casting a look over his shoulder to scan the empty pier.

"Nothing." Ronon chided himself, and resumed walking. "Sorry."

"Okay."

They went through the doors, and Ronon wondered if he was the only one who left his words out on the pier. Dropped them somewhere, either to be found again when they were running and the world had righted itself, or if they'd already been blown out to sea.

"Alright," John said, as they headed down into the residential quarter, Ronon's door lurking just out of sight behind the approaching turn. "It's probably nice to be crashing in your own bed for once, huh?"

Yeah, but. "Yeah," Ronon lied, waving his hand over the control panel, careful not to let his sudden irritation show. "I'm beat."

"'Kay," John said, smirking slightly, he offered a brief wave as he edged away, continuing on down the hallway.

Ronon stepped into his room and found himself glaring at his bed, feeling like he'd just missed some chance somewhere, and that this wasn't where he was supposed to end up.

 _Morning will come. Everything will be back to normal. This, whatever the hell it is, will make sense._  
\--- 

The sound of the chime was so quiet that he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it, but when he opened the door, John was standing in the hallway for the second time in a night. When his eyes eventually found Ronon's, they were puzzled and nervous.

"I. Ah. Look. There's something I've got to do. Mind if I come in?" He stepped, just barely, into the room, looking around, maybe scanning for threats and finding nothing but Ronon. The door closing behind him seemed to lend steel to his spine, though.

Even as it robbed Ronon of his. _What_ \- he wanted to ask, but it was buried underneath too much of the debris shaking loose in his head, and he couldn't dig it out. Not with John standing there in his room, too damned close to miss anything.

John's head was tilting to the side the way it did whenever he was calculating tactical options, and his expression was tense enough that he'd probably moved on to considering the outcomes. There was a subtle shift in his shoulders, and a twitch at the corner of his jaw, pulling at the edge of his mouth.

 _He's biting his lip_ , Ronon thought, distractedly, and he stepped forward. He felt himself raising his hand with some vague intention of pressing a hand to John's face, wanting to smooth the tension from his mouth, but John caught his wrist.

Ronon froze, startled, but John pulled him closer, down, to brush a small kiss against his lips. Another, and then again, and Ronon found himself pressing back, remembering how this worked, almost like it hadn't been ten years…

Then the glint and the flash of it hit, what they were doing and what it all meant, and Ronon couldn't feel anything else besides yes and the need for more. The taste of stale beer and the feeling of John's sides relaxing under his palms, _when did I reach out to touch_ , and the inevitability of it all.

Eventually, though, they broke apart, but John's face was still so close that it was all Ronon could see. Still a little overwhelmed, he closed his eyes against the sight, and tipped his forehead down until it touched John's, until they shared the same air. He wanted to tell John something- _everything_ \- but didn't know where to start. There was too much, and they'd already skipped too far ahead, and he couldn't remember their starting point.

" _Here_ ," he began, but he wasn't sure what it meant, or where it was supposed to go, or how one simple word could feel so awkward against his mouth when John's lips had felt so natural.

He drew another breath and was about to try again, but John was already shaking his head, leaning back to watch him. His eyes began to look a little less certain, but John didn't look away, and didn't let go. "We really need to talk about this right now?"

" _Gods_ no." Ronon laughed, relieved, and stepped closer, needing to bridge the small distance before it grew any wider. Starting to think that this time, it might hold.

"Then we should probably just soldier on," John smirked, leaning in again. "Just watch the arm."

  
The end.

  



End file.
